Fire
by Librarian7
Summary: This is an historical Josef story. It follows the events of "Control," and is set in London in 1666. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

London, July, 1666

"Rise."

Josef stood, adjusting the fall of spotless white lace over his wrists as he flicked away phantom bits of dust from the full skirts of the dark blue velvet coat that fell almost to his knees. He spared a quick approving glance around the chamber. He might be young, as vampires counted, not quite seventy, but he had been properly educated and he knew what was right.

The room where the ruling London council of vampires met was stone, hewn from ancient rock long centuries before, and cool even in the heat of the early summer night. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting centuries-old scenes of vampire knights and pale, languishing ladies with gentle, fanged smiles. And throughout the tapestries all around the walls ran a ribbon of bright scarlet, the color of fresh human blood.

The largest of the tapestries depicted a court scene, although with the once and future King Arthur who might have been unrecognizable to readers of human literature. And on a dais before this scene of Sir Gawain drinking the blood of the Green Knight from a decidedly unholy chalice, three beautiful and terrible vampires sat to rule their world. None of them appeared to be past the first full flush of adulthood, and from what Josef read from their scent, all of the three had seen the passage of more than one century. He felt a sudden stab of longing for his sire, for the fortress that still commanded the darkly forested mountains of his far away homeland.

The eldest of the council, a ravishingly attractive blonde swathed in red silk cut in the latest court fashion, made a fluid gesture to indicate that Josef should come forward into the center of the chamber.

"You are a stranger in our domain," she said, her voice light and sweet as summer honeysuckle, and somehow carrying within its tones the power of countless years. "What is your name?"

Josef made a leg, gave a deep and graceful bow in the style currently in use by the human aristocracy while he pondered this disingenuous question. He was well aware that she already knew the answer. "I was born Josef Alexandru Konstantin, most gracious lady."

One of the other tribunal members nodded approvingly. There was an appreciation for the conscious assimilation of human mores and customs. It had been drummed into Josef that in order to survive in the world, he must be able to move among the humans imperceptibly. The faintest whiff of strangeness might lead to exposure. And one of the harsh lessons of his youth had been that exposure of one of their kind would lead inevitably to the extermination of many more.

"And in this city and time?" the third member asked. The flickering torches set in sconces around the walls made the glossy black cascade of curls in his wig seem to move with a life of their own.

Josef inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My credentials introduce me as Lord Josef Alexander," he said. "As I am the scion of a noble bloodline, I find the title not unjustified." He lifted a hand to correct the placement of his own carefully curled chestnut wig, the ornate ring on his right index finger plainly visible as he did so.

He was rewarded by a widening of the eyes on the part of his chief questioner. "Indeed," she murmured. "One might even say a royal bloodline."

"My sire," Josef said easily, belying the care with which his words were chosen, "has frequently adjured me to remain humble. I would not wish to claim undue privilege so far away from my native realm."

The three vampires exchanged glances, and Josef knew there was a wealth of communication in that silent action.

"Your sire has long been the object of widespread admiration," the blonde woman said. "Nevertheless, we are a cautious lot, here in England, and we do require you to offer some small proof of your lineage."

"A test of your powers and control," the dark-wigged vampire added.

"I am yours to command," Josef said, favoring them with a tight-lipped smile. They could not, he thought, devise such a test he was not equipped to pass, and pass easily.

The blonde clapped her hands sharply, and a younger vampire, perhaps Josef's age, but dressed in far plainer fashion, came in, leading four blindfolded humans by the ropes from their bound wrists.

"It would be sadly remiss of us," the blonde said, "not to offer refreshment to our guest."

The member of the tribunal who had not spoken before, a sternly handsome man of falsely apparent youth, who wore his auburn hair pulled severely back from his face, favored Josef with a sardonic smile. "Drink wisely, Lord Josef."

Josef returned the look. He could hardly miss the slight emphasis laid on his title. "I was not aware," he said, his tones mild, "that the late Lord Protector numbered many of our kind among his followers."

The other vampire frowned, and rose slightly in his seat. "Then your awareness of our affairs is somewhat lacking."

The blonde put out a restraining hand. "Courtesy, Thomas," she said. "Josef is, as yet, our guest." With her other hand, she indicated the four humans. "If you would be so good as to make your selection."

Josef nodded to her and turned his attention to the prisoners. All were young, perhaps in their mid-teens, two boys, two girls, and as he moved quietly among them, sniffing a scent here, fingering a lock of hair there, once bending close to lick delicately at the leaping pulse of an exposed throat, they shifted covered eyes around them, trying in vain to follow his movements. And with each, as he inspected, he looked at the impassive faces of the tribunal.

At length, he bowed again to the lady of London. "Shall I explain my choice?" he asked.

She smiled. "We shall be most interested to hear it."

Josef looked at all four of the humans, and pulled one forward, a slender waif of a girl, her honey-blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders below the white bandage of the blindfold. He slipped a hand around her waist. "Now this one," he said, "is a pretty little thing, and it's a shame so young a girl should be so thoroughly poxed. You'll forgive me, I trust, if I decline diseased blood. The taste is—not to my liking." And with a light shove, he sent her spinning into the grasp of the young keeper, who scowled fiercely. Josef suppressed a giggle, and moved to one of the boys.

He inhaled deeply. "On the other hand, the blood of this human is pure and sweet." Josef set a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder, and with a deceptively smooth motion, ripped the sleeve from his shirt. Lifting the boy's arm, he turned it so the inside of the elbow was visible to those on the dais, the raised red weals of two bites clearly in view. "Pity he's already—given—this evening." And this human, too, was put aside and removed from the chamber.

As Josef turned to the other boy, the vampire the blonde had addressed as Thomas frowned, putting deep creases on either side of his mouth. Josef favored him with an insolent smirk. "You present me with such a pleasant variety," he said, pulling the boy close, whereupon the child obediently leaned his head to one side, exposing a throat marked with multiple faint scars. Josef stroked the soft skin, his touch feather-light. "Well-trained," he said, "and ripe for tasting." He paused, and put his mouth close to the boy's neck, his eyes watching the dais carefully. "Tempting. Very tempting. However," he said, sniffing the boy's aroma again, "as I only smell one vampire on this boy, I think perhaps I will refrain from poaching on the exclusive property of another." His movements as he put this human aside were exquisitely gentle.

"Then your choice is clear," the lady said.

Josef shook his head. "There was never," he said, "a choice."

"Then drink, and welcome to our city."

The final possibility was a girl, perhaps fourteen, although Josef knew himself to be notoriously bad at gauging human ages. He could not see her eyes for the bandage over them, but she looked plump and well-cared for, even if her dress was some plain brown wool, almost the same color as the curly hair dressed in a simple bun at the back of her head. Josef wondered briefly how she had come to be in the hands of the vampires, but dismissed the thought. What did it matter, after all?

The girl shrank from his touch as he moved behind her, and Josef could hear her heart race, hear her breathing grow ragged and shallow with fear. He ran his hands down her arms, savoring the warmth of her flesh under the cool skin of his palms. When his hands reached her bound wrists, he loosened the rope around them, even as he leaned his head down to her neck. "Fear not," he whispered into her ear. She moaned softly at the feel of his breath against her. He lifted her left wrist to his mouth, feeling the push of his fangs as his thirst grew. The force of his grip overcame her faint resistance easily. The smell of her skin was spicy, redolent of cinnamon and cloves, and the taste of her was salty as he ran his tongue across the inside of her wrist. When he set his teeth, she whimpered, but her shudders, he thought while her blood welled sweetly into his mouth, were no longer prompted by fear or pain. It was difficult, not to drink too deeply, yet he knew his test was not quite completed. With some regret, he took one last swallow, then carefully licked the wounds to stop the flow of blood.

Josef carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with thumb and forefinger, darting his tongue out to capture this final taste. He was no glutton, unlike some he'd known, but he was not about to waste perfectly good sustenance. He gave the girl a quick caress on her silken cheek, paler now than it had been, and stepped in front of her. Behind him, he heard her stumble back to the wall, and sink to the floor, but he could not spare her any attention as he addressed the tribunal once again.

"A noble welcome," he said.

"And nobly partaken," the woman returned. "You are welcome in our city."

"My thanks for that, Lady—" Josef paused, waiting. He had borne with their impertinence long enough, he thought. They might be his elders, but that did not make them his betters. He had passed their little test; they owed him their names and more.

It would seem that the lady agreed. She inclined her head gracefully, and said, "Perhaps we have been too slow to introduce ourselves. My name, Lord Josef, is Elaine de Woodville. And I will also make known to you Christopher, Lord Summersisle." She indicated the black-wigged vampire to her right, then smiled winningly at the frowning man to her left. "And this is our beloved Thomas Corn."

Josef bowed again to them all. "And is every newcomer to your city the object of such scrutiny?"

Elaine de Woodville had the grace—barely—to look embarrassed, although he could see that the emotion warred with annoyance at the unaccustomed questioning of her actions. "Your pardon, my lord," she said with some asperity, "but we are lately confronted with a dilemma." She paused, a pretty hesitation, and one which felt entirely too contrived, as far as Josef was concerned. "And we knew that if you were everything you were reported to be, you might well prove a solution to our difficulties."

Josef looked down, pretending to busy himself with the cascading lace encircling his throat. At length, hearing nothing further, he looked up. "So," he said pleasantly, "you put me through tests in order to request—or is it require—my assistance in resolving a problem that is none of my making, or my concern? This is hospitality indeed."

Lady Elaine winced slightly at his tone, and Thomas Corn's expression of sardonic disdain deepened. Only the vampire introduced as Lord Summersisle looked pleased, his visage conveying interest at this novelty. Josef saw a kindred spirit looking out of those eyes that seemed to hold a wisdom far beyond his apparent age. A man who valued amusement, evidently.

"I can see," Summersisle commented lightly, "that we have found the perspicacity this task necessitates."

Josef had learned how to control his features in a hard school, and he let none of his dismay show now. "I find it difficult to believe that anything could arise that would confound the abilities of this august council," he said.

"Your sarcasm is unneeded, sir," Thomas Corn replied, a dangerous glint of silver shadowing his eyes.

Lady Elaine silenced him with a glance before turning her attention to Josef again. "We face a threat," she said, "from within."

Josef waited patiently for her to continue, but it was Summersisle who spoke.

"Without secrecy, without discretion, we are vulnerable," he said. "We move through the city, through the night, and with care the humans never know of our presence among them. It has always been so. But of late, there have been lapses—"

"Lapses?" Thomas Corn said. "Lapses? Deliberate actions, rather. Someone works to destroy us. One of our own kind."

Lady Elaine took up the story. "Bodies have been found publicly, drained, for which none of our number in the city was willing to take responsibility."

"Then someone is lying," Josef said.

"So it would seem. There have also been two of our fledglings murdered, and left on holy ground."

Josef frowned. "Holy ground has no effect on us," he said.

"True, but the superstitious do not know this. We fear someone seeks to rouse the human populace against us." Lady Elaine held out a yellowed piece of parchment with ragged, torn edges. Josef stepped forward to take it from her hand. "The fledglings were left with this message."

Josef looked at the parchment, on which a precise script contrasted with the roughness of the material, and read "Spawn of the devil, drinkers of blood, repent and burn." He frowned up at the tribunal. "This seems fairly clear."

"Find him," Lady Elaine said, her imperious blue eyes suddenly pleading. Josef looked at her, and then again at the note in his hand. There seemed little way he could refuse. He nodded shortly.

"I will do what I can, my lady," he said.

"And you will have our thanks for it," she replied, her expression lighter. There was more information he would need, but he would request that another time. For now, the negotiation was finished. The use of his hunting skills were the price for residence in the city.

As Josef turned to go, his attention was drawn by the faint sound of a heartbeat. The girl he had fed upon earlier still huddled against the wall. She had pulled the blindfold down, and Josef could see the terror in her eyes. He should be uncaring, but something in her manner, in her silent fear, reminded him too strongly of his past. His own mercy had not always been so tender, and in some ways he regretted that. He hated regret. Sooner or later, he would surely stamp out that too-human remnant of his personality, but thus far he had been unsuccessful in denying it. He turned back to the dais, and gestured toward the girl. "There seems to be unfinished business here."

Summersisle waved a negligent hand. "We have vassals who will finish her. She will be telling no secrets from this chamber."

Josef raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" he said coolly. "I congratulate you, that you are so wealthy as to spend such a treasure so prodigally."

Lady Elaine looked thoughtful, shifting her gaze from the trembling form of the girl to this stranger in her realm. "As you are so gracious as to aid us in our need," she said, "if you wish it, take the girl. I will give her to you. Use her as you will."

The words struck Josef like a lance in the gut, a reminder of past errors and sins. His face reflected nothing but mild gratitude. "A fresh source is always welcome, my lady. I will take her, with thanks for your generosity."

He turned to the girl and snapped his fingers at her. "Get up and follow me, wench," he said. His tones were abrupt, but he quirked one side of his mouth in what he hoped she would interpret as a kindly expression, and saw a faint hope spring to her eyes. Walking out to his waiting carriage, the girl trailing in his wake, Josef wondered again why he had left his homeland. Adventure, he thought ruefully. I was looking for adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Hey there! Alexander!" Ralph, Lord Milner, bellowed across the crowded pit of the theatre. Josef sighed inwardly. Of all the boorish dolts of his acquaintance, and London seemed full of them, Milner was the last human Josef would have wished upon himself this afternoon. Still, with the theatres newly open, now that the plague of the past months seemed to have abated, all the populace of London was crowding in to forget their woes in the escape of drama, and etiquette demanded that he ask Milner to join him in his box. A gentleman of quality could hardly be expected to mingle with the crowds in the pit, or the galleries above. The press of the crowd weighed significantly on Josef; so many beating hearts, so many crudely gasping lungs that his ears were near overwhelmed with it. Painted whores smiled boldly at him, and more than once a dainty questing hand brushed none too casually against his groin in passing.

That didn't bother him as much as the other professional hands seeking to relieve him of his purse, a matter of far more import to him than the assaults on his long-departed virtue. Within the space of ten minutes, as he made his way slowly to his box, he evaded no fewer than four attempts, four sets of fingers dancing through the pockets of his coat. It grew wearisome, and the last time, he simply tightened his grip on the offender's wrist and snapped it with a quick twist. He had to admit he was impressed when there was only a gasp, not a scream, in response. "Tell your colleagues," he growled quietly over his shoulder to his unseen captive, "to leave me alone."

Still, the experience was, on the whole, exhilarating even before the dramatic performance began. After Milner joined him, the native Londoner began a tedious litany of gossip about the various personages in attendance. Josef listened with half an ear, interest only in so far as he might be able to detect any evidence of vampirism, and more specifically rogue vampirism, in the human's tales. But although Milner had plenty of roguery to relate, none of it was anything that sounded useful to Josef.

"Here, luv, how about an orange?" a woman passing by with a basket on her hip said, enticingly. She was young and pretty, with a saucy smile and a jaunty striped skirt that made her stand out in the crowd.

Josef smiled back, and flipped her a generous coin, holding up two fingers. Her smile grew broader as she caught the coin, giving it a quick glance before dropping it deftly into her bodice. He considered the view well worth the minor sting of handling the silver.

As she handed him the oranges, he gave her a smirk. "Do I get to fish for change?" he asked with a significant leer at her bosom.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, me lord," she replied, laughing and setting one hand on her hip, but her words were belied by the wink she gave him.

Josef nudged Milner, passing one of the oranges to him while he brought the other up to his face. The rich aroma went some ways to countering the overpowering scent of unwashed bodies packed into the theatre. Josef inhaled deeply, the ripe fruit redolent of sun and heat and Spanish laughter.

Milner, meanwhile, had accepted his orange, ripping it open between his short, stubby fingers and sucking greedily at the interior. "It's sour," he frowned, leaning forward in his seat and aiming a cuff at the orange girl.

"I never makes no promises about the taste," she responded, dancing out of his reach. "Ye've no need to be complaining to me."

Josef laughed again, and snagged a copper coin out of a small pocket in his waistcoat, sending it spinning expertly into the valley between her buxom breasts.

"Oh, you're a wicked one, sir," she giggled as she twitched away, calling out her wares to the crowd. Josef turned his attention reluctantly back to Milner's endless monologue.

"—and I'm telling you, Alexander, you've come to London at a good time. We've not seen a playhouse open for nigh on a year. Demmed plague shut everything down. Unconscionable nuisance, don't you know?"

"I understand the death toll was quite high," Josef responded negligently. "That sort of thing can be quite inconvenient." He briefly entertained thoughts of ripping off this blithering idiot's fatuous head, and dismissed it as too messy.

Perhaps later, on the way home.

When at length the actors took the stage, Josef saw with some amusement that they were in competition with the audience, the orange girls, and the courtesans to see who could catch the most attention. The company had chosen an old play, one of Shakespeare's, to open the playhouse again, and it didn't take long for Josef to realize why it had seemed a good choice to bring in the crowds. Whatever its other timeless merits, for this audience _As You Like It_ was perhaps most memorable for the breeches role that allowed a slender, clever young actress the chance to appear on stage in boy's clothing. Women on stage at all were still a novelty in London, and women in male dress were positively scandalous. Rosalind, cavorting through the Forest of Arden as her romance progressed, was a gem of a part, and Josef found himself increasingly captivated by the young woman portraying her.

Her figure was neat and slender, her movements and gestures evidencing both long practice and deceptive ease. While her face was not, to Josef's connoisseur's eye, the ideal of beauty, her slightly irregular features, even under stage makeup, were compensated for by her vivacity and the intelligence sparkling in her eyes. Watching her long legs displayed in satin breeches, listening to her laugh and her low-pitched, melodious voice, Josef felt a heat rising in his cold heart that he had not felt since his turning. The physical desire for a graceful, attractive woman was one thing, but this went beyond. He wanted to meet her, to listen to what she had to say, and to possess not just her body but her mind. To make her aware of him as he was aware of her, and to have her direct that merry, mischievous gaze at him, and know him for what he was without flinching.

Finally, much as he hated to do so, Josef tore his eyes away from her, and turned to Milner, who was engaged in a salacious conversation with a woman in the next box, who from what Josef could gather was the pampered, if somewhat common, mistress of an earl. He wondered idly why she would show the slightest interest in the boorish baronet seated next to him, until she began fluttering her fan, and her eyelashes, in his direction. He wasn't sure she'd consider him a catch, if she knew him better, but he was not unused to flattery and outright invitations from women. He smiled politely and begged her pardon for interrupting her flirtation.

When he had Milner's grudging attention, he came directly to the point. "That girl—the actress. I want to meet her."

"That one?" Milner replied. "Good luck. She's as choosy as a countess, from what I hear. Moreso than some I've met, in fact. She needs to be lessoned in how a doxy behaves to her betters."

Josef smiled to mask the rapid loss of patience he was experiencing, but he could not keep the acerbic tone out of his voice. "I may be the one to accomplish that particular task, if someone would be so kind as to tell me her name and how I can get to her."

Milner waved a hand, his lace falling limply over the cuff of his coat, then raised a handkerchief to mop the sweat from his florid face. "Don't see how you bear this heat so well, Alexander. It's enough to give any man an apoplexy."

"The name, Milner, the name." By that time, the boyish Ganymede in the play had been replaced by pretty Rosalind again, as the play rollicked to its conclusion, with weddings all around, virtue rewarded and the wicked cast down…or at least humiliated. She was as enticing in skirts as she had been in breeches, and Josef felt his mind wandering to visions of her out of her skirts—or her breeches.

"Gads, Alexander…you're relentless. What's the difference? A skirt's a skirt." Milner snorted. "But her name is Mrs. Shaw—Mary Atherton Shaw."

Josef nodded, his eyes drawn back to the stage. The play had ended, and the crowd was already streaming towards the exits, but he sat still.

Milner threw him a questioning glance. "No reason to stay here," he grunted.

Josef shrugged. "I do not care to fight my way out through a crowd, when waiting a few minutes will rectify the situation. But if you are in a hurry, please don't stand on ceremony."

"Yes, well, I do have an engagement…" Milner let his words trail off, and Josef knew he was supposed to understand that the "engagement" was an assignation, most probably with some accommodating lady whose husband was otherwise engaged himself. He didn't care if Milner was planning to service the queen, as long as he removed himself from Josef's vicinity.

The baronet took his leave, at last, just as Josef was re-considering the advisability of eviscerating him, and left the vampire alone in the emptying theatre. Once he was sure he was unobserved, at least by anyone of his acquaintance, Josef rose and made his way to the backstage area of the theatre.

The spectators' area might have been growing empty by then, but backstage, lightly controlled chaos seemed to hold sway. Actors and flunkies swarmed, and bits and pieces of costumes and scenery crowded every available corner and surface. Friends of the company shared food and wine, and the buzz of chatter filled the air, along with the heady smells of makeup and sweat. Lamps flickered, giving the area an air of unreality far greater than what had been offered on view to the audience earlier.

Mrs. Shaw, to give her the courtesy title accorded to actresses in that day, lounged disheveled in front of her dressing table, a cotton wrapper loosely draping her figure as she removed the makeup from her face. As Josef entered, she was laughing at some sally from one of the company, sipping from a glass of wine. She looked up to see the newcomer, and favored him with a smile.

Josef bowed slightly to her, not the deep bow he would give a social equal, but polite enough. "My compliments to the company," he said.

One of the older men present, the company manager, Josef assumed, returned the bow, if not the smile. "Thank you, sir. And you are?"

Josef pulled several gold coins out of a hidden pocket, and gestured for one of the young serving boys to approach. "I am the one who is sending out for a cask of wine to show my admiration for your work."

The atmosphere immediately became more cordial. "Well met, indeed, sir. A patron of the arts is always welcome here," the manager said.

"Indeed," Josef returned, "I had thought that might be the case."

Mrs. Shaw laughed again, and Josef realized some of her merriment was drawn from the red liquid she imbibed, as well a the natural exhilaration of performance. "So formal, sir," she said. "Do you have a name, dear patron?"

Josef strode over to stand before her, bowing over her as she extended a hand to him, with a regal gesture he suspected she had perfected for some queenly role. "Lord Josef Alexander, my dear," he said, "and I trust this will be the beginning of a—friendship."

Her eyes flicked down to the cool hand that had taken possession of hers, noting the value of his rings, and the flawlessness of his lace. When she looked up to the warm brown eyes that regarded her so intently, her smile was bright and welcoming, and held no hint of mercenary design. "I am certain, my lord, that your trust is never misplaced."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The moon rose, casting its cold silver light over a city that was never fully dark. Golden flickers from torches, lanterns, candles and hearth fires all gave promise of warmth and safety from the prowling monsters of the night streets. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, a true monster stalked the stews and alleys, seeking a more dangerous prey than most of mortal London would have believed possible. Somewhere in London, a vampire heart burned with rage and hatred, seeking the blind surcease of death from the torture of an unwilling and despised immortality.

Not far away in space, although infinitely separated in emotion, Josef half-reclined on a pile of cushions amid a tangle of bed-clothes, watching through the heavy curtains that framed the bed as Mary Atherton Shaw combed the dark, heavy hair that rippled to her waist. He was admiring the way the candle-light danced in the shine of her hair, and the glint of her eyes as she threw a sidelong glance in his direction. Actress that she was, she had set the stage carefully, from the view he had of her to the drape of the dark, richly brocaded dressing gown that covered her linen shift.

"Are you sufficiently warm, my love?" she inquired with a look at the pale expanses of his bare chest and legs. "You seemed chilled, earlier."

"No man could stay chilled in your arms, Maria," he replied easily, though not without an inner qualm. That was always the challenge in making love to a woman unaware of his nature. Even though he made sure to feed before he came to her, availing himself of the warm blood of a swallow, he knew that sooner or later her questions would require answers. It was rapidly turning into a sweet torture, holding her, enveloped in her tantalizing aroma, his mouth against her skin, the taste of it on his tongue, and yet denying himself her blood, hiding the most essential part of himself behind lowered eyelids and closed lips.

For blood, he had little Betty, patiently waiting in the stone house he'd taken as a residence. Shy and fearful, she had nonetheless learned quickly to surrender to the pleasures of his fangs. And Lord Summersisle had directed him, gracious host that he was, to a couple of what the local vampires called birdcages, brothel-like houses where vampires could, for a price, find a ready supply of the humans they termed swallows, in what Josef had to admire as a clever bit of wordplay.

He told himself he had few illusions about his actress. While it was clear to him that she had no other men, the theatre itself was a formidable rival. No physical pleasure he could give her equaled the intoxication she found in the crowd's acclaim. He was a source of baubles and gowns, a transitory pastime between her daily assignations with her true love.

In truth, he was only surprised she had not proved more mercenary. He had offered, as soon as possible, to set her up in better lodgings, provide her with a horse and carriage, treat her, in short, as a nobleman's mistress should be treated. She'd only laughed in response.

"If I allow that, next, you'll be telling me for too much of what I can and cannot do. And, my love, I won't have that." She had paused then, and twinkled a smile at him. "Of course, I won't turn down any jewelry you might wish to bestow."

At the time, it had angered him, and he'd thought of forcing the issue. He'd reined in these thoughts with some difficulty, independence not being what he saw as an attractive trait in a woman. But Mary—Maria, as he'd dubbed her, it being more usual in his native tongue—was no swallow, and he had no real wish to deny her anything. If she wished jewels of him, he would give them. If she wished to remain in this ramshackle, rat-infested garret, because it kept her closer to her beloved theatre, then he would enjoy her company there. Although when he ordered in a better bed, with thick curtains that could block any stray sunlight, and the finest linens to cover it, she did not object.

He was content, for now, to lounge in this bed, one knee bent up, one arm resting across it, watching her. He could feel the heat rising in her again, as she regarded him with that teasing half-smile of hers. She thought she was leading him a merry dance, advancing and retreating from him to keep his interest piqued, but he knew from the start that her desire for him was as strong, as visceral, as anything he felt for her. From the first time she'd looked at him, across that crowded chaos backstage, she'd known she'd end in his arms, in his bed.

But pleasant as this was, Josef had not forgotten that he had serious business to be about. Indeed, later tonight he had plans to meet with Lady Elaine de Woodville to discuss the matter further. And truthfully, he was glad of the occupation. He'd found, these last few decades since he'd released himself from the immediate control of his sire, that he had a talent for trade. Much as his mortal father would have despised such activities, Josef had determined that immortality held great capacity for boredom, and also that it was far safer, and far more interesting, to be rich than poor. If trade was the path to that, then that was the path he would follow. He would build a thorny golden hedge between himself and the vicissitudes and vagaries of fortune. It suited his personality. While he'd been trained as a warrior, he found it unnecessarily messy and dangerous, and without lasting benefit.

"Wars," Josef had argued to his sire once, "end up having to be fought again and again. Pointless slaughter is a waste of good blood."

But that was long ago and far away, and his sire's disagreement with his views had no further power over his actions. Here and now, there was diversion to be had, and he intended to take what pleasure he could.

Mary had finished combing her hair, and deftly twisted it into a loose braid, as was her habit before retiring. As she bound it off with a short bit of ribbon, she gave him an arch look.

"And what does milord require now?" she asked with a smile, as she rose and walked toward the bed. She shrugged off her dressing robe, leaving her clothed in a simple white shift. The soft, worn linen of her shift was, Josef noted appreciatively, almost translucent in the glow of the candlelight, and with his extraordinary vision he could sense, if not fully see, every delightfully rounded curve of her limbs, every seductive, arousing movement of her body. She knew what she was doing, the minx, he thought, smiling slightly as he listened to her pulse speed and her breath quicken.

"Milord requires that you get your lovely arse into bed," he said, speaking carefully to avoid flashing the points of his newly descended fangs. He reached out, perhaps a little too quickly, and snagged her wrist, pulling her down on the bed, and moving them so that she ended up with her back spooned against his front, his arms gently but effectively imprisoning her there. She squirmed, laughing as she felt the results of her motion hard against her, and he growled softly.

"Be still, woman, you drive me to distraction," he said, but even then he was using one hand to walk the hem of her shift higher, reveling in the faint delicious friction from the soft fabric as it slid between them across the sensitive skin of his thighs.

This was good, he thought, nuzzling her neck, licking the skin, tasting her not as he wished, but as he could. She can't see the color of my eyes from this angle. It would be hard, so hard, not to relieve the pressure of his fangs with a bite, but he could stand it. She wasn't ready for that yet, even if she was more than ready for other things he could offer. With a sigh of contentment, he eased himself inside her, and warmed himself in the welcoming fire of her passion.

Elsewhere in the city, a mortal cried out in pain and fear as a pair of rending fangs met in the side of his neck, and a burning spray of bright blood flooded into a waiting mouth. All too soon, though, the flood slowed to a bare trickle, and as the mortal heart lagged, the vampire was forced to pull, sucking at the wound with a terrible insistency, until there was no more.

Lowering the corpse to the filth of the street, the vampire stood over it, lost in thought, in the disorienting aftermath of assimilating so much blood at once. He did not hear the approach of another, moving behind him with the invisible grace of an encroaching shadow. Too late, a scent of decay broke through his bemusement, and he turned only in time to see the silver flash of vampire eyes, and the iron sweep of the blade that took his head.

With a cold smile, the avenger pulled a ragged-edged parchment from a hidden pocket, and tucked it in the waistcoat of the headless body, then, glancing around to make sure that no witnesses existed to be disposed of, vanished again into the darkness.

Hunting had been good, tonight. It was a pity, perhaps, that other vampire senses were stalking the night as well. The bodies would be disposed of, and the report would run back to the council, long before the dawn.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Halfway down the long stone corridor Josef caught his first indication of something wrong, and stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, all his senses stretching forward. He could hear little through the thick gray walls, but his nose told him a different story. There was a distinct scent in the air. Blood, but not the delicious aroma of flowing life that he loved. This was bitter, wrong, but not completely unfamiliar.

Vampire blood.

He considered his next action. The most prudent course might be to turn and leave. The stink of spilled—fatally spilled—vampire blood crawled down his throat and called to mind images and memories from his fledgling days that were best left buried. Unfortunately, he thought, his mouth twisting in a grimace, that same early training had burned away any remnants of prudence in favor of bold action. "Fortune favors the cruel," his sire had told him. "The strong, the brave, and the intelligent. If you fail in any of these qualities, this world will not long be graced with your beauty." Turning and running was not in either his nature or his training, although that did not mean he was not cognizant of the dangers.

Part of that training had been learning to breathe consistently in a human fashion. As contained and impregnable as his sire's fortress had been, Josef had always known that eventually, like any fledgling, he would have to leave the nest. And while he had left eagerly, voluntarily, standing here now in this blood-scented corridor, he allowed himself a momentary yearning for the certainty he had known there. And yet, he feared the ancient familiarity of his present surroundings. The worst of his past, combined with the unknown elements of a strange place. He had stopped breathing, the better to listen, but now he began the motions again, the careful rise and fall of a silent chest.

He loosened his sword in its scabbard and moved forward with the tension of a stalking panther. The swords might be largely ceremonial in this age, but they were still weapons, and still useful. The grace of his controlled strides measured the length of the hallway, carrying him toward the council chamber. He paused at the doorway.

The heavy, iron-bound oak door of the council chamber yielded at his touch, swinging open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.

The chamber was the same, cold, unchanging, but the scene was like some strange tableaux from Dante's Inferno. Lady Elaine once again occupied the central chair of the dais, but the other two stood empty. And instead of the chill perfection of clothing and demeanor she had displayed before, the vampire lady of London, clad in rumpled lace and linen that foamed around her like sea-wrack, cradled in her lap a severed head that had left long darkening streaks of blood across her skirts. Her hair was disorderd and wild, her eyes swollen and red with grief.

She was not alone. Behind her shoulder, Thomas Corn perched like a bird of ill-omen, his somber garb in contrast to her pale wrappings. His hand rested intimately on her shoulder as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. Tonight his thick auburn hair hung loosely around his shoulders, framing his face with more beauty than Josef had remembered.

Lady Elaine moved a red-stained hand, softly caressing the forehead of the grisly object in her lap, murmuring to it as she smoothed the dark hair carefully back from the distorted face. Josef realized she was singing a lullaby, crooning simple words of rest and sleep and peace to this battle trophy.

His mouth twisted in distaste, very briefly, before he recovered his mask of mild disinterest. While he rather thought the threat to life and death portion of the evenings entertainment had already passed, one never knew, and it was wise to conceal all emotion beneath a prudent disguise.

They had noticed him at last, Lady Elaine raising her gaze from the head in her lap. Josef noted the wild light in her eyes. Her mind, he realized, was as disordered as her dress. Thomas Corn, on the other hand, looked as coldly sane and logical as an arrow in flight.

Josef made the elaborate bow that courtesy required, with a flourish of his broad-brimmed plumed hat. "I fear," he observed, "that I have come at a poor time."

Thomas Corn looked up at him sharply. "Forgive my blunt ways," he said insincerely, "but why have you come here at all?"

Josef gestured. "Lady Elaine was to have told me more about the slayings. But the killer seems to have hit closer to home than anticipated." He paused. "I take it this loss was—unwelcome."

Corn scowled, an expression suited to an older face than the one he inhabited, but before he could speak again, Lady Elaine seemed to pull back into herself with an effort. She spoke, but her hands never ceased their gentle motions on the face and hair of the severed head. "My sweet Jemmy," she said, the tears spilling over her cheeks again, "my fledgling."

Josef carefully took his hand from the hilt of his sword, trying to make the movement as casual and unobtrusive as possible. He moved a few steps closer to kneel on the lowest step of the dais, which put his face roughly on the same level as the dead eyes and snarling mouth of the slain vampire. "My lady," he said, his voice as soothing as he could make it, "tell me what happened."

"What happened," Thomas Corn said, "was what you were pledged to prevent. Another of our people slaughtered. Mercilessly."

Josef looked up at him, stung. "We are not, on the whole, a merciful lot," he said, "and in honor, sir, I fail to see how I could have prevented this. Do you think me so great I can see everywhere in this unfamiliar city?" He made a small stiff bow from the waist, which he hoped was as sarcastic as he intended. "I am flattered out of measure."

Lady Elaine gifted him with a tremulous smile. "Jemmy was my newest fledgling, Lord Josef. Such a pretty, pretty boy, and so swift to learn our ways." She shifted her bright blue eyes back to her lap. "You carried my hopes for the future, sweeting."

Thomas Corn scowled again, thinking perhaps the headsman, whoever he was, had chosen the wrong target for the work of his sword. A great pity to kill Lady Elaine's favorite, when he could have had one who was an upstart, an interloper. He regarded Josef, thinking him an arrogant pup who had not yet seen the turn of his first century. Still, when Corn spoke, his voice was pitched low, his tones loving. "You are not alone, milady. Never alone."

Lady Elaine reached up with one bloodstained hand to touch Corn's fingers briefly where they rested on her shoulder, then reached out to caress Josef's cheek. There was a slight, unpleasant stickiness to her cool touch. "All the pretty boys," she said, "all the pretty, pretty boys, and Jemmy was the fairest. Jemmy was the fairest of them all."

Josef looked up at Corn with a slight disbelieving shake of his head, but before he could speak, the other vampire lashed out at him. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, whelp," he snapped.

"And you in yours, commoner," Josef retorted. He glared at Corn, tensing, ready to surge up into attack at the other's insolent tone.

"Well, now," a new voice said, "allowing our lady to grieve is one thing, but to let her take it to such foolish extremes is quite another." Christopher, Lord Summersisle, strolled into the chamber, his gait indolent, accompanied by two very plainly dressed vampires and two humans, a frightened-looking young woman being supported by a boy still in his teens. Summersisle stepped, as though casually, past Josef to mount the dais and lay one hand on Lady Elaine's shoulder. With his other, he flipped the trailing black curls of his wig back over the collar of his claret-colored coat, then took hold of Lady Elaine's chin to turn her face toward him. "Elaine," he said gently, "Jemmy is gone. Let go."

"No." The word was drawn out, like a whispering sigh.

"Yes," Summersisle replied crisply. "And you—you need to feed. You cannot punish yourself like this." He motioned with his head, and as Josef rose and moved back, one of the new vampires came forward to take the severed head from Lady Elaine's lap. She was staring into Summersisle's eyes, and made no resistance as the relic was taken. At the same time, the human boy presented himself, rolling back the white linen of his sleeve, his eyes shining with eagerness.

He offered up his wrist, as Summersisle urged her, "Drink, Elaine. Take sustenance."

She shook her head as though to wake herself, and took a sharp sniff, the scent of mortal blood registering in her grief-numbed senses at last. Her blue eyes flickered to silver, and grasping the boy's arm in her blood-stained hands, she bit down, slipping her fangs neatly through his skin. Josef watched, interested, as the boy threw his head back, hissing in pleasure as the vampire drank his blood.

Josef glanced around at the young human female, noting that she was trying very hard to be invisible, slowly shrinking back against the wall. He felt a slight twinge of hunger like a faint ache in his fangs, and wondered if the girl's—services—might be available. Despite a stop by a birdcage on his way, and the sweet slaking of his hunger he had obtained there, the sight of Lady Elaine lapping the blood flowing from the boy's wounded wrist made him thirst again.

At the same time, the dour Thomas Corn was also watching Lady Elaine feed with more intensity than seemed polite to Josef. He looked away, slightly embarrassed, and became aware that Summersisle was staring at him, seeking his attention. He nodded, fading back even as Summersisle left the dais and gestured to the silent ones who watched and waited.

"I trust you are keeping well, Alexander?" Summersisle said by way of greeting.

Josef smiled. "The city is proving diverting…aside from these unfortunate occurrences, of course."

"Diverting? So I understand. An actress, I believe? A very nice choice." Summersisle smiled, the mask of boredom slipping to reveal the predator. "I've seen her."

Josef felt a small sinking in his stomach. He had not realized he was so closely observed. "She serves to pass the time pleasantly enough," he said guardedly.

The other vampire's smile gained a more genuine humor. "She's in no danger from me," he said. "Swallows are not so difficult to come by in this city that we need steal from one another."

Josef bit back the retort, "she's not a swallow," knowing that claiming her as a lover would be a foolish error. Assuming Summersisle had more reason to call him over than a veiled threat against Maria, he waited patiently for the other to speak. And waited as one of the servant vampires was instructed to take the human forward for Lady Elaine to feed from, leaving the other standing before them with his head inclined, holding the head of the unfortunate Jemmy in the crook of one arm.

"Jacob, here, was the one to find the bodies," Summersisle said abruptly. "I thought you should hear what he has to say."

"Bodies?" Josef asked, his interest piqued.

Jacob nodded. "A mortal, as well as Blaylock, milord."

"Blaylock?"

Summersisle interjected, indicating the head. Josef thought distastefully it had been the center of far too much attention. "Jeremy Blaylock. Poor boy, he was twenty years a mortal, and only six a vampire. Far too young to die."

"Had he killed the man?" Josef was ready to move on to details.

"Jemmy was barely past the fledging hunger," Summersisle said, his smile slipping away. "He craved the kill.

Josef nodded, remembering. The controlled feeding from a sweetly writhing human was exquisite, and a skill it had taken years of practice and experimentation to attain, but the raw rush of power inherent in draining the very life from a human, especially a male in the first flush of adult power, was also undeniable. The urge for this primal kill never left, as far as Josef was aware. At best it could be relegated to the background, like the ever-present pounding of human heartbeats. "So he'd fed."

"Yes, milord," Jacob said. "But he had just put the body down. The stroke that took his head was so powerful it sliced open the human as well."

"Was Blaylock's body chest up or down?" Josef asked.

Summersisle shot him a shrewd, appraising look as Jacob answered. "He laid chest up across the human's body, milord."

Josef looked at Summersisle, both eyebrows lifting. Vampire reflexes being what they were, even for a fledgling, even for a vampire rising from the satiety of an uncontrolled feeding, Jemmy Blaylock should not have met his death face on so easily.

"You think he knew his killer." Summersisle's voice held no question. It was a simple, flat assertion.

"Not just knew, Lord Summersisle," Josef replied softly, his gaze steady. He chose his final word carefully, senses alert for any reaction in the room. "Trusted."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The carriage jounced and jolted roughly across the cobbles through the London night, and Mary Atherton Shaw, never one to lose an opportunity, artfully lost her balance, flinging herself closer to her companion in a flurry of rustling satin and lace. Josef wasn't fooled for a second, but then again he was far from displeased at having this warm, fragrant bundle in his arms, and he smiled into the darkness, aware that she could not see his face.

For the sake of the pretense, however, he growled something about the scandalous state of the roads, and the king's shocking inattention to the needs of his realm.

"My pardon, milord. I had no intent—" Mary began a pretty lie, and pushed, very lightly against his chest as though to move away. Josef tightened his arm around her, much as she had expected he would. Men were all the same, she thought. Trying to get away from them only brings them scurrying after. Lord Josef Alexander, foreign or not, was no different.

For his part, Josef felt the stirrings of desire, and her slight struggle only ignited him. He tried to distract himself by burying his mouth against her dark curls, but her scent only came to his nostrils that much quicker. He was feeling the sweet ache of his fangs for her, and that was dangerous so early in the evening. The torture of being with her, of being so often inside her, without the completion of feeding on her blood, was forcing him to drink more often, and more deeply, than had been his wont in recent years. "Don't lie to me, minx," he cautioned playfully.

When she protested her innocence, he pulled her closer into a kiss. This, too, was an occasion for more control than was pleasant to exercise. He desired her kiss, and yet he could not risk her seeking tongue finding the hard length of his fangs. He wondered briefly why he felt so strongly that she must not be told of his nature, why she was so different from Betty or any of the swallows he used and fed from without a thought. His Maria had become important somehow, her opinion of him significant to him. He knew with an instinct beyond reason that he needed her acceptance, and that somehow she might not find it in her heart to welcome something so uncanny as a vampire into her life, and her bed. Perhaps it was a result of his fatigue, perhaps he was wrong.

She sighed against his mouth and turned comfortably to rest against his shoulder, her full skirts spreading over his knees in billowing profusion. He closed his eyes, momentarily picturing her dark hair spread across his thighs , the silken feel of it on his skin, the warm velvet of her mouth…this wasn't helping.

As though in response to his thoughts, the woman reached up to touch the hand that rested around her shoulders. "You seem tired, my love," she said. "Tired and chill. Are you well?"

Josef smiled. He was tired, very tired. His business ventures, the ostensible reason for his visit to the city, were taking up more daylight time than he found comfortable, and his nights had been consumed with the—thus far—fruitless hunt for the vampire killer. Every lead he had pursued, every avenue he had followed, had led nowhere. If he dreamed, he would have dreamed of headless vampires, and as it was he felt constantly tense and braced. But that was nothing to burden pretty Maria with. Her smile and her warmth were what he needed to restore him. Sympathetic ears could be found elsewhere, if he needed one. Only the night before, he'd sat his personal swallow, Betty, down on his lap, and told her every bit of the tale, although since he spoke in his birth dialect, he knew her serious consideration of the matter was quite limited. Still, even without response, it had helped to talk things out.

And if that were not sufficient, the climate in this dreary place would soon do him in, he thought. The last vestiges of the summer were penetrating what should have been the chill haven of his stone sleeping room, and what rest he was able to take had not been as restoring as he wished. And he would admit such a trivial weakness to no one, vampire or human. No one.

"Quite hale, my dear, and all the better for your concern." He paused. "And to think there were those who told me you would be like a character from one of the plays you act--all demands and caprice."

She twisted around to give him a mock frown. She could see he was weary, and decided the best way was to charm him out of it, distract him from whatever burdens he bore. He had never spoken much of such things to her, always turning the conversation to other matters less close to his life. "Caprice, is it? And shall I become then imperious in my concern, and order you hence between my sheets, that I may oversee with royal disdain, your proper rest?" she asked in her best stage voice, complete with grand gestures to match her feigned expression of regal displeasure.

Josef sketched a courtly bow as best he could from his seat in the carriage, his mouth twitching with amusement, and patterned his response to meet her theatrical style. "Your pardon for mentioning it, empress of my heart, but I have ever found that the confines of your gracious bed are anything but a space of peace and rest."

"Fie upon you, sir," she retorted, "to traduce my honor so." But she was laughing as she said it, and he was laughing too, and when their lips met again in a kiss, it was as though the laughter still bubbled between them, and Josef was able to control and direct his responses. Still…he found his focus drifting. He'd planned to take her out, show off the brilliance of her beauty and wit before some of his alleged peers, rakehells and wastrels though they might be. He had had word that his reclusive behavior, his failure to maintain the type of household expected of an aristocrat of his publicly known lineage, was raising question amongst the mortals with whom he dealt, and there was no question that to do so normal a thing as parade his association with a pretty mistress would serve to allay suspicions. Then again, he reflected, there was such a thing as too much caution.

"Maria," Josef said abruptly, "would it distress you if we postponed our outing?"

She frowned a little in puzzlement. "Of course not. Have I displeased you in some fashion? If so, milord, I do beg your pardon."

"Displeased me? Not in the least." Josef smiled at her. "It's simply that I thought, given the choice of standing around in noisy, overcrowded room with a herd of fatuous nobodies drinking bad wine and watching poor gamesmanship, or taking you back to that bed you mentioned so beguilingly a few minutes ago, and untying all the ribbons and laces of that very complicated dress you are wearing, well, it occurred to me that I was on the verge of making the wrong choice."

Mary cast him a sidelong look. "I was looking forward to showing off this—as you say—very complicated dress. But as long as you promise to untie the ribbons and laces, this time, and not rip them apart, then I expect it would be my pleasure to do as best satisfies you, milord."

Josef nodded, then rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage, and ordered the coachman to turn around. His heart was lighter for the decision.

And in the darkness near their planned destination, the one who had planned to kill the vampire and his mistress waited in vain for them, as the hours of the night passed slowly away.


	6. Chapter 6

Fire

Chapter 6

Josef pulled up his horse in the torchlit courtyard in a clatter of iron-clad hooves and a flurry of activity from grooms and gatekeeper hurrying to attend their returning lord. The early morning lacked an hour or two yet of first light, but the men were well accustomed to their master's hours, and well-paid not to comment on them outside his walls. The bay stallion, used to the pressure of a strong hand on the reins, pranced and curvetted as Josef kicked his boots free of the stirrup irons and vaulted lightly to the cobbles, expecting the grooms to seize the stallion's head as he tossed the rein ends in their direction.

He was fatigued, he thought as he strode inside, boot heels ringing on the flagged floor. More staff waited to serve him there. A man to take the cloak, hat, and gloves he shed as he walked to his seat by the fire in the great hall. Another servant bore a tray with a decanter of brandy and a single crystal glass, and yet another stood by to assist in removing the young lord's spurred jackboots. And lastly, off in the shadows, ghostly in their thin white nightgowns and caps, shawls thrown hastily around their bare, pale shoulders, Josef's three resident swallows waited sleepily to see if their special services were required.

Josef regarded them speculatively. Really, if he intended a lengthy stay in London, he should add a few more girls to his staff. Especially given his situation with Maria. Having a lover who was unaware of certain of his—needs—was proving more stressful than he had imagined. That would have to change, one way or another, and soon.

But that was not a topic he needed to dwell upon now. He pointed to his choice, Betty, whose plump figure and light brown curls were about as far from the quick, slender, darkness of his Maria as he could find. The other two faded back, presumably to return to their beds. But before the girl could approach him, he stopped her with a gesture, and indicated that she should take a seat on the settle by the hearth to await his pleasure.

And before he slaked his thirst, assuaged the hunger that ached in his bones, he needed to think about what he'd found, or not found, in the course of the night.

He was sure by now that he'd talked to everyone—every vampire—in London who had any knowledge of the murders. Everyone who had removed a body, everyone who had known the murdered vampires. He had even, and he grimaced with distaste at the thought, interviewed their swallows. While he told himself he had nothing against mortals, and his gaze strayed over to the young girl staring into the fire with sleep-dulled eyes, the girl waiting to feed him, there was still a part of him that sneered at the thought of expecting intelligent response from food. Somehow it seemed like expecting to treat with his bay stallion as an equal, and he had to admit to himself that he valued the stallion far more than most of the humans who crossed his path. Swallows were for feeding, and possibly for fucking, but—his mind stumbled a bit. His sire had tried to train him to take that view of humans. The training had been long and arduous. He thought he had rebelled against it, but it seemed some of the philosophy had taken root. Still, the logic seemed flawed, somehow. Despite himself, despite his training, he couldn't quite completely discount humans.

Maybe it was the emotion Maria had awakened in his heart, the undead heart that had been closed to all softness for the past decades, but he was starting to look at the world differently. Sometimes, in some contexts…he realized that of his three swallows, he only knew Betty by name. The others appeared, performed as requested, and departed. He shook himself mentally, and poured a glass of brandy to try and chase these thoughts out of his head. He had more important concerns.

Murder. Murder took precedence. There had been six vampires now, slain as they fed in the streets of London. He had thought that there would be some obvious connection between them, but none had presented itself. Male, female, newly made, ancient. Four were native to London, although with different sires, two had come to the city from other places. The only tie that bound them, beyond the fact of their vampiric nature, was that they had all been taken without a struggle.

Josef had made a point of visiting the death scenes, letting the stillness within him remove him from the present, and reaching out with his acute senses to gather every scrap of information he could. In the earliest killings, time and weather had removed much of the information he sought, but at the sites of the more recent killings, the traces of blood, human and vampire, showed him flashes of the scene, unrolling like a play before him, albeit one dimly lit even to his sharp eyes. It resembled nothing so much as the flickering glimpses of a landscape in a lightning storm.

He sighed to himself and took another drink of his brandy, more for something to distract his body from the questions in his mind than anything else. He'd caught flashes of the murdered vampires feeding, and turning to greet their fatal destiny with smiles. The glint of moonlight on steel, the barest suggestion of a cloaked and hooded figure, but not one unknown to them. In at least two of the slayings, the vampire had not killed the human present by feeding, but the stroke of the sword that decapitated the vampire had fatally wounded the blood donor as well. Josef had not bothered to seek human witnesses to the events, knowing that even the younger vampires were careful to choose their feeding grounds. Secrecy was everything, discretion was everything. And in this city of endless narrow streets and hidden, filth-clogged alleys, most receiving precious little light at noon, and not even a stray candle flame in the further watches of the night, few eyes watched. Fewer still would linger, if the sight was dangerous. But something itched behind his eyes, some sense that he knew what was going on, even if his brain hadn't quite pieced it together.

A sudden movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Little Betty had nodded off, her head falling forward and then jerking back upright as the uncomfortable position awakened her. The quiet of the hall, broken only by the subdued crackle of the dying fire and the warmth of the chimney corner where she huddled, had done their work, dragging her eyelids slowly down. Even the odd mix of excitement and fear she felt at being chosen to serve the master again was not enough to counteract the seeming peace of the room. Josef smiled a little to himself. The child was tired, and a merciful master would have sent her away.

But he was not feeling merciful tonight. He had stood where pools of blood, human and vampire, had lain, and even the memory of that scent was enough to raise the red thirst in him, like a beast fighting against its chains. And this girl, this mortal, was here to serve the thirst. She was his and he would drink her innocent blood before the looming dawn.

And be damned to the rest of the world.

He could feel the veil of mortal illusion sweep away from him, his true eyes shining silver in the gloom, his lips parting over lengthened fangs. He began to growl for the girl, but even at this point the thought crossed his mind that there was no need, even now, to do the thing brutally.

"Betty," he said, trying to make his voice, thickened with thirst, as gentle as possible, "attend me."

The girl started when he spoke, raising wide eyes to him. When she stood, she let her shawl drift from her shoulders, leaving her clad only in the straight fall of a worn white linen shift. With the fire behind her, Josef could see her limbs silhouetted, and felt desire rising in him for more than blood alone. In that space of a few of her rapid heartbeats that passed as she approached, he considered taking her completely, sweeping aside the flimsy nightdress and pulling her, struggling or not, into his lap to straddle his hips. He'd read enough of the fire in her blood to know that she'd ride him well, even as he pierced her willing throat.

And yet, somehow he saw Maria's eyes in his mind. Those blue eyes he had seen smoky with passion. And he knew that if he were to set his hands on a woman's body, to steady her on him, he wanted his hands to feel the subtle flare of Maria's hips beneath his touch. Josef shook the image from his head as Betty came to a halt before him.

"Kneel," he said. "Give me your wrist."

He heard the faint thud of her knees against the stone floor, felt the soft texture of the sheer linen as he pushed back the frayed end of her sleeve, although it was rough beside the silken texture of her inner arm. In his hunger, he smelled only the fragrance of her blood, could almost see it pulsing wildly just beneath the tender skin. Another time he would have paused to savor it all, to take in all her scent. But this morning, with dawn red on the horizon, he merely slid his tongue across her wrist, and let his fangs enter her, his lips curving against her skin in a smile as he heard her moan, the sound almost inaudible to him above the rushing tumult of the current of blood into his mouth, the pounding of her fragile human heart.

It was only after he gave her wounds the final cleansing stroke of his tongue, and she swayed sighing against his knees, that he realized there was a scent of decay about her. The scent of another vampire, and an ancient, at that. His hand clamped on her shoulder, trapping her with no possible escape, while he cursed himself for a fool, letting his hunger override his judgement. This time, as he pulled her scent into his nostrils, moving his head to garner all the nuances, he wasn't simply appreciating the bouquet of willing human blood. He was seeking information, seeking evidence of betrayal. She was a spy in his house, of course she was a spy. Cleverly placed, with that farce of a test in the council chamber. His sire would have had him flogged for such carelessness. And rightly so.

Betty cringed as the vampire brought his other hand to her neck. She didn't know how she had offended him; he'd seemed pleased with her service. But now the gentleness was gone from his hands, the heat of passion from his eyes.

"Betty," he growled, "I'm going to give you one chance to talk to me, and you are going to tell me the truth. Aren't you?"

The girl sobbed and turned pleading eyes to him, but did not struggle. "Anything," she whimpered. "Anything you want, milord."

"You talked to someone," Josef snapped. "Someone like me." He saw the confusion in her face and clarified. "I can smell him on you. You talked to a vampire." He could see her grow visibly paler, and knew she understood him. The questions spilled out, rapid fire. "When was this? Who was it? What did you tell him? What did he want to know?"

"He said you would hurt me. He said—he said you would kill me," she gasped.

Josef released her, with a slight push away from him, and she collapsed to the floor. "And you believed him." Josef's tone was flat, then his voice hardened further. "I saved your miserable life the first night."

She seemed to be trying to sink into the stone, her face covered with her hands. "He asked me, where you went, what you knew. I didn't understand it all."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That—that I didn't know anything, milord." Her body shook, and he could smell the salt tang of her tears. "I could not betray you. I would not."

Josef paced angrily, boot heels and spurs ringing sharply on the floor. The violence of the noise pleased him somehow, matched his mood. That someone would dare enter his home—and just how had that been accomplished? he wondered—was enough to enrage him. And that this intruder had the gall to question his swallow? It was insupportable. But the girl—it was true. She knew nothing that could harm him, beyond the knowledge of his nature, and that was no news to whoever had dared to approach her. Otherwise, he sensed no deceit in her, now that he was looking for it. As easy as it would be for him to turn his anger on her, to release the beast within and glory in its savagery, what purpose would it serve? He'd been taught better.

Josef stopped his pacing, deliberately setting his anger aside and engaging his reasoning to look at the situation. This was a subterfuge, a false trail meant to draw him in the wrong direction. No vampire—especially not one of the age he had scented on the girl—would expect a swallow to have any real information about another vampire's business. It was ludicrous to assume so.

He went back to the trembling girl and bent down to lift her to her feet, frowning as she shrank from his touch. He put a hand on her face, firm but not ungentle, turning her tear-stained visage to him. She was such a tiny thing, he thought, and so terribly young. He spoke quietly, and, he hoped, soothingly. "Be still, child. You won't be harmed. Answer just a few more questions, and then I'll let you go."

"Please, milord," she begged, and would have sunk to the floor in supplication if not for his supporting arm, "please don't turn me out."

"Turn you out?"

"He said—he said you'd throw me into the street, milord, or sell me to a whoremaster, if ever I mentioned he was here." She paused, gulping. "If you didn't kill me."

"I see." Josef regarded her with some dismay. "I meant I would let you go back to your quarters."

Her eyes were still tear-filled, but she whispered, "Milord is merciful."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far. But milord still wants to know—what did he ask you, Betty? What did he expect you to know?"

The girl quaked in his arms. "He wanted to know what I'd heard you talk about—to me, to the others. But I didn't tell him anything. I swear, milord, I didn't. Not about the way you talk to me in that foreign tongue, not anything."

"Peace, girl, I believe you."

The sun was rising, and Josef wanted nothing more than to descend the steps to the cool crypt below and sink into a dreamless torpor. But he needed to ask one final question of the little swallow. "Betty, one last thing. The vampire who was here—who was he?"

He thought he knew, and the answer, when it came, did not surprise him.

"It was the one from that other place, the one who dressed like a Puritan," Betty said, her words dropping into the morning like pebbles into water. "Master Thomas Corn."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: The play described in this chapter does not exist. And it's totally out of character for theatre of the time. So sue me—it's artistic license.

Chapter 7

The applause rose to the rafters of the theatre in a storm of noise as Mary Atherton Shaw stepped forward to the row of lanterns at the front of the proscenium stage, making her bow with a sweep of her short cloak and her plumed hat calculated to draw attention to her slender, shapely legs clad in breeches and hose. Josef could see the dust playing in the air currents around her, stirred by the movement and roar of the audience. She still fascinated him, possibly as much for the effect she had on the crowd as anything else. All around him, the vampire could hear heartbeats speed with excitement whenever she took the stage. She was not just in her element, she was glorying in the moment, incandescent with vitality, as though the adoration of the crowd fed her somehow. And now, as she made her bows, strutting across the boards as confident as any young bravo on the streets of London might be, he smiled with pride of possession. She was his, body and—not blood, not yet, but soon.

She was always a delight to watch, but the play tonight had been troubling. In the festival atmosphere that had prevailed since the restoration of the monarchy six years before in 1660, the taste of the crowd, after the long sober rule of Cromwell and the Puritans, had been for bawdy, rollicking comedy as frothy and light as the whipped egg whites on a syllabub. Now, though, like a child surfeited on sweets, the crowd was beginning to long for meat, for something more savory and fulfilling. And the theatre managers, ever sensitive to the mood of the city, knew before the citizens what they would want.

Josef had seen Maria now in half a dozen roles. In each of them she had been a saucy wench, overcoming all obstacles by wit, and proving her superiority through cleverness and audacity. It was, perhaps, no surprise that he felt such an attraction to her, such an affinity with her, he thought.

Tonight was the first time he had seen her in a drama. It was a new play, a darker piece Josef suspected had been born out of the horrors of the recent siege of plague in the city, which had only abated a few months before. Tonight, he had witnessed the theatre audience shudder at the sight of a pallid spectre stalking the city, stealing life and virtue from all who crossed him, an indiscriminant despoiler. A vampire.

And Maria, his Maria, had played the part of the innocent maiden caught in the path of this evil. Her family destroyed, her true love feared dead, she had boldly donned male garb and sought the monster out to conquer it with her sword, her purity lending her the strength and skill needed to fight him, her native intelligence giving her the courage and shrewdness needed to win.

The piece was astonishing, captivating, and Maria shone in it like some darkly glimmering jewel in firelight. Josef had to marvel at her performance even as he was dismayed by the sight of her as a slayer of monsters. Monsters very like the one who shared her bed.

A little later, he sat patiently in his carriage outside the theatre, ignoring the bustle of the throng. No need for him to wait upon her backstage as the company shed their costumes, and traded the masks of illusion for the disguising cloaks of ordinary men and women going homeward, now that work and play were done. She knew he was there, she would come to him soon, and he would be able at last to revel in her company, as he always did.

She was laughing as she clambered into the carriage, waving aside the offers of assistance from the footman, and somehow investing even such hoydenish behavior with a grace and style of her own. Her eyes were twinkling as she kissed Josef soundly on the cheek. "Oh, la," she said, bouncing a bit as she settled her voluminous skirts with a careless flounce, the ornate ruffles and lace falling in cascades around them, "what a night! Did you see the crowd? And the royal box—not the king, not tonight, but his brother, Josef, his brother was there. And how he laughed and cheered when I—" and here she made a lunge, miming her stage swordplay, although the tight bodice of her dress brought her up short. She caught a deep breath, making her breasts quiver in the low neckline of her gown, much to her lover's appreciation. Then she leaned against him, smiling winningly up at his amused face, and snuggling in under his arm. "Poor Josef, you bear my foolish chatter nobly. I should not try you so with my madcap ways."

"Indeed," he replied, smiling, "you are a great burden to me, Maria." He drew her closer and planted a light kiss on her full lips. "You see how I suffer."

"Tis abominable, my lord," she murmured against his mouth. As always, when they were together, his desire for her began to rise, as though they were two halves of a whole, as though she were some missing piece of him.

"Ah," he said, his hand playing along her bare shoulder, the tips of his fingers tingling with the feel of her delicate skin, as though he could hear through the touch the rushing pulse of her blood in the veins below. His fangs were out, suddenly, and he had to turn his head away, breaking the kiss.

He coughed to cover the reason for his actions, cursing inwardly, although he wasn't sure whether it was at his cowardice or at his nature. Maria instantly put a hand to his averted cheek, and he found he wanted to rub his face against it like a cat.

"Are you well, Josef?" she asked. "Your skin feels so chill." Like all Londoners, she feared another outbreak of the plague that had decimated the city the previous year, and every sign of illness, no matter how slight, was a cause for concern.

Josef captured her hand and put it from him gently. "I am well, Maria, very well." Back in control, he turned and looked at her again. "And I intend to prove it to you. Soon."

Nonetheless, this was getting frustrating. Well beyond the point of a pleasant torment. He could stand, he thought, not drinking in the sweet substance of her veins, but having to hide from her in this ignominious fashion, as though the very fact of his nature was some shameful flaw—that was swiftly becoming insupportable. He was going to have to talk to her, before instinct took the matter out of his hands. Tonight. He cursed the timing of that wretched play, but knowing the lurking danger Maria had unwittingly portrayed, he knew it could wait no longer. His kind took poorly to even a hint that their reality might be uncovered, and this vampire play…the council would try to quash it. There would undoubtedly be collateral damage, and he feared Maria could easily be a part of that.

Still, first they would return to her lodging, where he could demonstrate his underlying humanity in her arms, and then, then he could speak to her of blood and immortality. There was a small cynical voice that niggled in the back of his brain, wondering if that was only an excuse to make love to her once more before she learned the truth. Before she, quite possibly, flinched away from his monstrosity. And even that small mocking voice turned from considering the consequences of her rejection.

In the late summer heat of early September, Maria's garret was warm enough to hide the vampire's coldness. Josef had learned decades before, as he first ventured out to live among humans, how to disguise his lack of a heartbeat. It was surprisingly easy to re-direct a mortal's attention to the echo of their own pulse. Even a lover resting her head against his chest heard only the roar of her own blood pounding in her ear, and took it for his heart, if he suggested it was the sound she expected to hear. Not that lovers had been so frequent, and there was blessedly no need to dissemble with swallows, or with those taken by force.

Tonight, in the warm darkness, Josef cherished his lover's body, savoring every part of her, covering her in kisses, enveloping her in his arms, using the strength of his heightened senses to see her in the gloom, to drown her in the power of his eyes. By the end, she wept in her pleasure, buried herself in him, as though if they only strove a little harder, they would transcend their bodies and spiral into some realm beyond.

Later, she lay sleeping in his arms, trusting as a child. Josef knew he was only putting off the inevitable, but he slipped from the bed as gently as he could, pulling on his breeches, and stood at the open window, one arm braced above his head on the window frame, drinking in the myriad scents of the city, borne to him on the strong wind out of the east. It was late, very late, and yet the city seemed to be pulsing with a strange vitality, as though some great beast stirred in its coiled chains, waiting to strike. Josef let the wisps of wind that curled through the window dry the sweat from his chest.

Behind him, Maria stirred. He could almost feel her smile. "Come back to bed, my love, you must be weary from your labours."

Josef forced a laugh. "Labours indeed, precious one," he said. "The wind is changing, Maria. Something is coming. I can feel it riding on the wind." He paused. He had a sense, suddenly, strongly, of trouble. Not here, but elsewhere. The city was always scented with smoke, but tonight it seemed heavier, thicker, like a weight on his consciousness. "And there are—matters—we must discuss. Serious matters."

"Will that not wait until tomorrow?" she protested sleepily. "Come back to my arms. Rest."

He turned his head, looking over his raised arm, his hand brushing the hair back from his damp forehead. "This has waited too long already. There is something you need to know about me."

Josef allowed himself a last look out the window, and took a deep breath, drawing in the night air of the city. Then he cried out, and dropping to his knees, doubled over in agony. "Flames," he gasped. "The city in flames!" He did not know if it was vision or reality. And there was more—but he could not see. He struck a fist against the floor, unable to strike against the pain in his belly. Tendons and bones ground sickeningly together with the force of it, and he extended the fingers, watching with detachment as everything slid back into place, healed almost instantly..

Maria started up from the bed, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. "Josef, what's wrong? What's happening?"

Fighting for mastery over himself, he stretched out a hand to her, saw to his horror that it had gone corpse gray. "Maria—my love—" he said hoarsely, and raised his head to look at her, the crystalline blue of his eyes shining in the dimness, his fangs white and cruelly glittering.

She leaned forward a little, at first, trying to see what had changed. Something was terribly wrong, terribly different. Then she jumped away, her reflexes moving her without her volition. Her hand over her mouth stifled a scream.

The pain doubled him over again, but this time he let it ride through him, and by force of will staggered to his feet, and lurched toward the bed. He knew he was moving faster than humanly possible, and that it would only serve to terrify her more, but he could not help himself. He had to reach her. Maria was kneeling up, pressing her back against the wall. Her eyes were wide, unable to look away, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"What are you?" she choked out.

Josef could see more clearly now, the edges of his vision sharpened by the burning in his gut. There was a spark in her eyes, a defiance in the face of monstrosity, and in that moment he loved her for her courage even as the heart in his silent chest broke with the proof of her rejection. Then he was beside her, grasping her struggling in his arms, and breathing in her ear. "I'm your lover, Maria. Your demon lover." At his words, she froze in his embrace, and then a wave of tremors passed over her. Despite himself, he began to lower his mouth to her throat.

The searing pain ripped through him again, caused his arms to tighten around her convulsively. But when the worst had passed, he came more to himself, dropping his forehead to rest against her shoulder for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was steady. "I must go," he said, "but there is danger, Maria, danger all around. When it comes, you must make your way to my house. Come to me, and I will protect you." He gritted his teeth together, the internal battle still raging, the thirst for her blood almost overmastering him. "I am not what you thought, but I am not what you fear, either," he growled. "I am your lover, Maria, and I will never harm you."

With that, he released her, and before she could comprehend what he was saying, he was gone, vanished into the smoke that was beginning to fill the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Josef moved through the near deserted streets in a haze of speed, an unseen whisper of motion, his bare feet skimming over the rough cobbles and filth of the byways heedless of damage to himself. A few souls stirring may have thought they saw his passing, caught some blur in the corner of an eye, but most dismissed it as a trick of the early morning light. He took some care to be unseen, but not too much. He was being drawn to his home with an urgency that superseded everything else, even the crippling blow he had received from Maria's rejection.

He had forgotten, it seemed, that even an undead heart could feel despair. Around him, in the gray of the dawn, he sensed a quickening in the pulse of the city. The wind was carrying more than smoke, now. It held the first hints of ash as well, and the distant sounds of church bells, ringing in alarm.

Josef felt a stinging in his eyes, and tried to attribute it to the smoke and the ever heavier ash whipping in on the east wind. He wondered briefly, as he ran, in this town so filled with wooden buildings, what steps might be being taken t o stop this deadly blaze from spreading. In the face of fire, he was as vulnerable as any human. Josef knew he was going to have to get out of the city. He was fast, but he couldn't outrun the wind. Not for long.

And although the pain that had gripped him in Maria's garret had largely abated, it had been replaced by an odd, yawning void within him that was equally troubling.

He dodged and jumped the detritus that littered the streets, skirting the rank pools that assaulted his nose with acrid fumes, and stung his lacerated feet. They would heal quickly, and heal without scars, but he needed to be able to maintain speed right now.

Coming around a corner, he nearly collided with a cart and horse. The driver of the wagon never saw him, never understood why his steady old horse had chosen that moment to spook, to rear up in the traces and wave his heavy iron-shod hooves blindly in the air.

The last hundred yards were straight as an arrow shot up to the gates of the courtyard of the stone house Josef had leased through the good offices of Lord Summersisle, but before he reached the gates, he had an idea of what had gone so wrong. At this hour, when the gate should be closed and barred, it stood, not wide open, but slightly ajar. Just enough to tell Josef that his gatekeeper was not on duty, and that the security of his residence had been breached. And the scent of blood he smelled in the air, strong enough to rise above the stench of smoke, told him the breach was catastrophic.

His first thought was to rush through the gate, hitting the heavy ancient wooden beams hard enough to rattle their iron bindings, to send the mass of it flying open. He had neared the portal and raised his hands to shove it wide open when the fog around his brain lifted just enough to stop him from such rash foolishness. He halted, noiselessly, and placed his fingertips against the gate, not to move it, but to assist him in reaching out with his senses.

There were no heartbeats within. Not even the large slow thumping of the horses that should have been standing in the stable, patiently awaiting their morning grain. The acrid scent of blood spiked with pain and fear was all that he could smell now. It filled his nostrils so completely that even the miasma of the growing fire was wiped away. And the visions Josef could see—chaotic, flashing images of violence and death and blood everywhere—nearly drove him to his knees again. He thought himself fearless—and he had proven his mettle on the gory battlegrounds that covered most of Europe like a curse for most of the decades of his life, charging sword in hand against the mortal armies who were never a match for the vampiric strength and speed of his comrades-in-arms. But now he feared to enter, feared to face the reality of the horror he knew with dead certainty lay within.

He could smell no vampires in the house, or the area enclosed by stone walls that he had thought sufficient to keep any enemies at bay, but he knew the overwhelming odor of the blood, the fragile human blood that spoiled so quickly, might mask the smell of decay that would signal the presence of another monster to him. Even an ancient vampire could hide under the scarlet cloak of the amount of blood that clogged his perceptions now.

He circled the grounds, first employing the dank, narrow alleys, and when the surrounding structures pressed too close, jumped to the rooftop to survey the scene below. Outside, there was no movement, although he could see the lifeless, huddled forms of three of his grooms. His carriage still stood in the courtyard, the driver on the box with a huge scarlet stain across his chest, his left hand yet gripping his driving whip in a macabre imitation of life. The horses lay tangled in their harness, awash in a sea of blood that lapped around the lifeless bodies of the grooms at their heads.

Seeing the carnage from this remove bothered him less than the implications of it. The attack had been so swift, so relentless, so needlessly brutal. He leapt down, inside the courtyard, landing gracefully in an alert crouch, ready to defend himself against attack. He held the position for several seconds, trying to reach past the bloodsmell, but there was nothing. The dead in this place were not of the variety that could strike against him.

He straightened slowly, unwilling to trust his senses fully, knowing a mistake, a failure to be ready, could be permanently fatal. The brightening sunlight was becoming problematic. He could feel it burning on the pale skin of his back, even through a light pall of smoke. Josef skirted around the edges of the courtyard, keeping in the shadows of the stable colonnade.

In the doorway of the house, Josef could see that two of his men, at least, had put up a gallant, if futile, attempt at defense against the invasion. Their bodies lay athwart the threshold, swords in hand, and they bore the marks of tooth and claw on the slashed flesh of their arms and chests, as well as their savaged throats. Josef saw blood on one of the weapons, and stooped to run a thumb and finger along the length of the blade. A sniff told him beyond any doubt that a single vampire had created this slaughter, had turned his home into an abattoir. There was no need for silence now, he knew the attacker had finished and departed.

Josef rose, knowing in the pit of his stomach what awaited him within, and forced himself to step across the bodies into the great hall of what had been his home. Three more men lay scattered around the hall, lifeless heaps of flesh. All his men, Josef thought, every one cut down, and for what? Some strike against him? He was perhaps a little surprised that without exception, even down to the cook who kept the women and the servants fed, his men had stood against the scything attack that cut them down. The last of them had fallen at the foot of the stairs that led to the solarium, to the swallow's quarters.

Josef climbed the stairs slowly, knowing there was no reason to hurry.

Two of the girls were still in their beds, pale as the white linen where they lay. He barely knew their names—Jane, Janet? Molly? Polly? Simple, sturdy girls who had come at his summons and, speaking little, provided him willingly with the essence of their lives. They had none of the flash and sparkle of his Maria, but they had offered him their wrists, and their throats, and on more than one occasion, their bodies, without question or demand. He had taken from them without thought, as though by right. And now their pale bodies lay flaccid and bloodless before him, dead eyes staring into the mysteries beyond.

He closed their eyes and straightened their limbs, smoothing the disordered hair from their faces. They had not been savaged, merely bitten and drained, with only a few crimson drops gone to waste, spilled from wounds that seemed too small to let a whole life leak out and escape. It was one small mercy, Josef thought as he wrapped sheets around them, that they appeared to have died quickly, almost painlessly. A death under a vampire's fangs, he knew, need not be cruel. He remembered his own turning. But these girls—they had not been meant for that, and it was too late, far too late even so.

After attending to the bodies in the two bedchambers, Josef had to steel himself to the hardest task. He'd seen the small lifeless form carelessly tossed to the floor at the hearth, near the settle where she often waited for him.

Betty lay with arm outflung, looking pale as a sleeping angel in her nightdress. Even her white shawl still draped around her shoulders, framing her face in softness. Her neck bore no fresh marks, no wounds that he could see.

Josef knelt beside her and gathered her body in his arms. He bowed his head over her, inhaling. He wasn't sure how it worked, he was never sure how it worked, but there were times when he could sort out the tangled threads of past events more clearly than others. Now, what his senses were telling him, was that she had been awake, awaiting his return, had heard noise from below and thought him come home at last. Beset, she had tried to bargain with her killer, offered up her wrist freely. And sank into death without a struggle, without a cry to warn her sisters.

Josef's shoulders sagged, the tears pricking his eyelids. There was such a thing as too much pain in one day. He threw back his head and roared out his loss and sorrow.

In the streets, over the rushing of the east wind, an old man stopped to listen. He thought he heard a noise he'd never thought to hear again in this world, the howl of a hunting wolf. A shiver ran down his spine, at that remembered keening, and then the wind carried it away. The old man shook his head and turned back to his morning tasks. It must've been a trick of the wind. There were no wolves in London.

At length, Josef felt the calm and peace of exhaustion flow over him, but knew he could not seek his hard bed. There were matters to be attended to, without fail. Starting with the mortal remains of the girl in his arms. He rose and carried her to her bedchamber, laying her out as he had the others, a sheet folded carefully around her for a shroud. As he crossed her rounded arms on her chest, the ruffle at one wrist—plain linen, he had never thought to give her anything so dear as lace, she was merely a swallow, after all—fell back, revealing the wounds that had been the connecting point for her between life and death. They were small, almost dainty in their position and spacing.

Josef drew in a breath, in surprise. The girl had spoken to him, more clearly in death than in life. His course of action was clear, but he had preparations to make. He gave her pretty face one last caress, the curly brown hair sliding under his fingers a final time, and covered her face with the sheet.

The next hour he spent moving the lifeless bodies of his servants into the stable, piling the men together carelessly, laying the girls in a neat row on a soft bed of new straw. He'd see them all buried later, if he could, feeling a hard sting of responsibility for their needless deaths.

Unbuckling the harness, he dragged the horses out of the sun with some difficulty, and moved the carriage into its accustomed shed. Looking down distastefully at his stained feet, he knew there was little he could do to ameliorate the blood—human and equine—on the cobbles, but he needed to tend to other business which would require him to be at nominally clean and respectably dressed.

The cook had been up already, preparing for the day, and buckets of water stood waiting in the kitchen. Josef used one for his ablutions, then visited the upstairs chamber he used for a dressing room. He shirt was snowy white, but for breeches, waistcoat and coat, he chose plain dark colors. Perhaps a little plain for an aristocrat, but suitable garb for a businessman. And it seemed to match the bleakness of his interior landscape.

There was nothing he could do in daylight to track the killer he sought. Vampires tended, with every justification, to be more than careful about their resting places. Josef had ideas for nightfall, but until then, his time was better spent securing what he could of his interests, if the city's situation deteriorated further.

In the space of time it had taken him to set is house in what order he could, the streets had become crowded. The usual quiet of a Sunday morning, with orderly citizens making their way to the churches of London, was gone, replaced with shoving, sweating men and women carrying what valuables they could. Josef, trying to reach the dock areas, overheard snatches and snippets of information, but nothing made much sense. A bakery on Pudding Lane, hundreds of houses aflame, Lord Mayor Bludworth doing little to control the blaze, and that little, ineffectual. Many were blaming foreigners, and Josef thanked his instincts for dressing in local clothing, perfecting his accentless English. Others cried that it was the wrath of God come upon them. Josef had his doubts about that, but wasn't stopping to debate the matter.

He had to know more. Where the fire was, what direction it was spreading. Although he knew the wind was helping the blaze along, he had little enough idea of city to be able to make any judgments. In his progress, he had come close to the Tower of London, and thought that a view from the battlements might tell him much, if he were allowed up. He cast his mind around, thinking if there were any business or social contacts that might be of help. He was near the house of that buffoon, Lord Milner…and despite his opinion of the clod, Josef knew the man had some power in the city.

A detour, a request. Milner waved away his concerns. "Fires every year in this city, Alexander," he said with an airy wave. "Nothing to worry about."

"Nonetheless," Josef replied, masking his impatience, "it would be a great lark to view the commotion from the top of the Tower, would it not?"

Milner snorted, and allowed himself too old and serious for that sort of foolishness, but if Lord Alexander insisted…he would write a note to the Lieutenant of the Tower. "Sir John Robinson," he said. "Good fellow—give him this and he'll see you have the best view you could hope for. Now you're sure you won't stay for dinner?"

Josef bowed, declining the meal, and expressing his thanks with every courtesy, was gone.

Sir John read the note with a crooked smile. "Well," he said leading the way to the ancient massive staircase, "you aren't the first to think of the view. There's already an acquaintance of mine up there taking in the sights. He can tell you what you're seeing in the city."

As they reached the top of the Tower, emerging into the smoky air, a gentleman with a round, intelligent face beneath the requisite curled wig turned to see who approached. Sir John made a quick introductions, but social niceties died in his mouth as he looked out over the city. The fire, which had started in one bakehouse, was now threatening to engulf a large portion of the city. The man—Josef gathered his name was Pepys—indicated by name the streets and churches that had been devoured. "There, you see," he said, pointing, "just at the north end of London Bridge? That was St. Magnus the Martyr. That church had stood since before the Conquest, and now it's gone. And it will get to Thames Street, and the wharves, next. There's nothing there that won't go up like tinder."

Josef gripped the stone parapet. His dizziness was from more than the sunlight. This was beyond dangerous. It was quickly turning catastrophic. And somewhere in those twisted streets, filled with wooden buildings and showered with sparks in the wind, somewhere his Maria, if in any way she was still his Maria, might be in mortal danger. But where?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mary Shaw stumbled backward, and cursed at the slight ripping noise she felt more than heard. Using both hands, she jerked the hem of her skirt free from the heavy shoe of the man who had trod upon it. She thought wistfully of the freedom she knew wearing her boy's costumes on stage. If only she'd had a set of boy's clothing at her lodging, she'd have worn it in an instant, regardless of the penalties she'd incur if she were discovered. As it was, between the crowds and the mire in the street, her dress was near ruined. Not, she supposed, that it would matter, if half of what she heard was true. The voices around her spoke in urgent tones about hundreds of houses aflame, the Dutch attacking, or the French.

Her hand stole unconsciously to the low neckline of her dress. She'd taken the precaution of stowing her few valuables deep inside the bodice for safe-keeping. If anyone got as far as her jewels, she'd have far more urgent concerns than holding onto a few baubles. Touching the parcel of gifts reminded her of the occasions when she'd received them. They had all come from Josef. Her lover. The monster. She settled in her mind on calling him, Lord Alexander.

After his precipitous departure from her rooms the night before, she'd stayed sitting up in the bed for most of the rest of the night, trying to piece together what she had seen in the semi-darkness, the gleaming silver eyes that had transfixed her, the inhuman speed of his movements. She told herself she had to have been dreaming, that she could not have seen what she had seen. And yet…she knew she had been wide awake, she knew he had been there—his coat and shirt remained to offer witness of his visit. And she knew, deep within her, that whatever he was, he had never harmed her, never been anything except restrained in his treatment of her. In fact, she had long thought he was too reserved, holding something back, but she had convinced herself that was merely a facet of his foreignness, and thought that sooner or later it would fade. She knew she had captivated him completely, as she had wanted. His position and wealth meant security and protection for her. But she had no idea he was anything more than a young aristocrat pleased with his acquisition of a pretty mistress.

She'd pondered all that until full light, when the advent of plain, honest day gave her the comfort to doze. Sleep proved, however, to be a mixed blessing; the peace of unconsciousness broken by dreams of Josef. In her dreams, her gently imperious lover mutated by turns into a ravening demon and a wounded, helpless prisoner. In her dreams, as in life, he reached out to her, his need writ large upon him, but whether to destroy her or simply to take aid from her, she did not know.

Mary was used to sleeping far into the day, and the bustle and noise of the streets floating up to her window had never been an obstacle to her rest. When she woke, late in the morning, surfacing groggily out of her troubling dreams, she had no thought that anything was out of the ordinary in the world at large. But when she leaned out of the window, as was her morning custom, the sight that greeted her was a huge cloud of black smoke covering most of the city. She stood, struck, remembering Josef's anguished cry of "The city in flames!"

As her hands mechanically went through the motions of dressing, her mind raced. The fire was east of her, and moving her direction. She couldn't stay where she was, that was certain. This rickety tenement where she lodged would go up like kindling if the fire came so far, but she had few choices of destination. The theatre—the theatre was not in the right direction, either. Jo—Lord Alexander's house was to her west, but who knew how far the fire would run? He had promised to protect her, he had promised she was safe from harm, but could she trust him? After what she had seen last night, after what she had learned from the play, she was torn between instinct and superstition.

The river, if she could get to the banks of the river, perhaps she could find passage across the Thames. London Bridge might be burning, but no fire could jump across a river so broad. Not without the hand of God Himself behind it.

So she had gathered her valuables, and made her way down through the deserted house to the street, and found pandemonium in full sway. She'd considered bringing Lord Alexander's abandoned clothing with her—if nothing else, it was fine material and would bring a pretty penny, but as it was, in the crowd she needed two hands just to manage her trailing skirts, and help her keep her feet.

Her mouth hardened. If she wanted visions and stories of supernatural creatures, she could have stayed in her mother's cottage, among the cinders on the hearth. When this wretched blaze was extinguished, as it soon must be, she would go back to the theatre and find herself a proper lover, an Englishman.

The crowd surged through the streets, and Mary was hard pressed to make her way towards the docks. The sun had passed zenith and lowered considerably in the sky before she came in sight of the wharves, and then found that passage was not to be had. Not for what she could pay. In time, she'd exhausted every other possibility, and still the wind roared through the streets. She heard the distant crashes of church steeples falling, the eerie sound of the bells muffled and struck backward to ring the alarm. Her head ached from the din, and her eyes burned from the smoky air. She just wanted a place to hide, like the quiet cool of an empty theatre after the audience had departed, but there was nowhere she could go. Nowhere except the lair of the monster, the house of Lord Alexander.

She had never been there before, only heard of its location. Still, she thought if she could find the street, someone would know. He was a powerful man, he kept a carriage. His residence wouldn't be that hard to find, surely. She began moving as she could toward him, dodging and weaving up the packed street. The going was slow, but she hoped to find refuge by nightfall. Everyone was moving, few had any clear goal, except to put distance between themselves and the fire. Men wrestled with overladen barrows, cursing every bump and puddle in the street. Women carried bundles, or babes, and all were in constant danger of falling and being trampled by the mob.

Mary, caught up in her own struggle forward, had no thought to spare for it, but over the city, on street after street, the same scene was playing out. Crowds, moving as best they could, clogged every street. As the afternoon wore on, barrows were abandoned, making the narrow lanes harder still to navigate. Tempers flared like brushfires, and men fought like dogs over the spoils they had no means of transporting away.

Josef found the spectacle sickening. It reminded him too much of the battlefields he had once haunted, and had sworn to avoid forever. He had thought to go back to Maria's rooms, to see if she needed him, if she would accept his protection in this emergency, but the ways were near impassable. Somehow he caught a distant echo of her distress, and the thought almost made him run mad. He could begin to rend and tear his way through the crowd, and perhaps they would part for him in horror, or perhaps they would tear him to shreds. He gritted his teeth and forced his way along, perhaps moving a bit faster than some, but not nearly fast enough.

He was tired, he had had no rest for the day, and he knew with the coming of darkness all dangers in this city so rife with peril would increase. The crowds would grow more desperate, and men would dare things under cover of night that they would cringe away from in the day. And then there were the vampires. Josef knew that with the night, he would be prey, even as he hunted. And he knew well that his connection to Maria was known. He needed to find her before she was found by others. Others who would consider her only as bait for him.

When at last he came full circle to Maria's rooms, the fire was near, and she was long gone. He held the bed linens where just the night before he had lain with her curled trusting against him, and smelled again her fear of him, born in an instant and sweeping aside all thought of love and ease. Josef crushed the fabric in his hands, holding it to his face, trying to see where she might have gone. He could see that her jewels were gone, those gauds he'd given her, and his mouth twisted bitterly. Evidently, her superstitious fear of him did not extend to his golden gifts.

But he could not linger here in contemplation of a mercenary heart. The roar of the conflagration was louder by the minute. He could follow her scent to the street, but thousands of feet had trodden in her footsteps, and she was impossible to track.

Josef stood silent and thoughtful for a few moments. His instincts, and his heart, were telling him to search for the girl. To find her, no matter what the cost. But his head, his head told him he might search for days and nights in this dangerous, ruined city without ever seeing a trace of her.

He had lost, perhaps, too much, this day. He needed to re-group, re-order his thoughts. It had been this way at times on the battlefield; too much carnage, too much destruction. Senses overloaded and refused to bear the burden any further. He was tired, hungry, his head aching from double assaults of smoke and sun. Josef squared his shoulders, knowing where his duty lay. He cast around on last time, hoping against hope to catch a lingering trace of her scent. Even without knowing her blood, he could have tracked her, he thought, through any wilderness in the world, across any desert or through any jungle. But in this morass of terrified humanity, in this wasteland filled with hearts beating too fast and buildings poised to plunge into flame, it was simply not possible. He shook his head, eyes bleak, and turned his back on Maria's future, and walked away.

Mary swiped a hand across her sweating face, and grimaced at the sight of the soot she brought away. Even away from the fire, the air was filled with ash and cinders, carried on the wind that refused to die away. She was tired. The day must surely be drawing down to night, but although the sky had begun to darken, the streets were lit by the flames of the city. Shadows were strange, skewed, and flickering. Mary was so tired, she had gotten to that state where it felt as though she never known anything else than the endless trudge through these hellish streets. She could not conceive of anything else. Still she knew the night must fall, and she knew before that occurred she must find shelter, a haven from the night and its denizens.

At length, though, she came to the street where she had been told Lord Alexander lived. It was quieter than some, not a main thoroughfare, and astonishingly, not all the residents had fled. There were still a fair number of servants about, some obviously to guard the premises of their absent masters. At her query, one of them pointed to a gate at the end of the street.

"Likely they've all gone though," the man said. "I ain't seen no one stirring there all the day."

She nodded and walked on, with no idea what she would do, if the house were empty. Josef—Lord Alexander, she corrected to herself—had kept a lord's household. Surely someone would be there. But her fears were not allayed when she found the gate hanging partway open. On the other hand, even an empty house might provide the shelter she needed. And he'd told her to come to him. She pushed resolutely at the gate, opening it just wide enough to squeeze through.

In the dying light of the evening, she found the puddled blood, half dried now, from the slaughtered horses, and skirted around it. After the chaos of the city streets, the silence here was strange. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place; the protected courtyard seemed oddly calm. Her eyes tracked the drag marks that led to the carcasses of the slain horses, and bit back a gasp. The beautiful pair that had pulled Josef's carriage, that she had admired, were destroyed. She couldn't bring herself to inspect them closely, but someone had evidently dragged them one by one to the colonnade. And in her experience, no one man could drag the dead weight of the carcass of a full-grown horse. Something was terribly wrong here.

Mary hesitated. With no signs of life, it might be better to find a hiding place in the stables, rather than dare the house. She'd no desire to be labeled a thief, should someone come upon her unexpectedly. She looked at the door to the stables, then turned away and tossed her head as she would if portraying a haughty duchess on the boards. Hiding in the stable? She thought not. She had an invitation from the—from the master of this house, whatever he might be.

There was more blood spilled on the doorstep, but not so much she was unable to step over it. She found no one on the ground floor, but when she turned to the steps, yet another pool of blood blocked her way. She was picking up her skirts to keep from trailing them in it, when she noticed a bare footprint on the step above, a bare footprint etched in blood. She blinked, seeing suddenly in her mind's eye the shoes of her lover, sitting by the bed where he had kicked them off the night before, in his hurry to possess her.

Josef had been here, had seen all this blood, she thought, and unbidden the question arose—or had he spilled it?

She heard no noise behind her, but suddenly she was grasped and turned firmly against a broad male chest. She didn't struggle until a stranger's voice said wryly, "Somehow, I thought I might find you here."

Mary looked up into the dark face of a man in a fine black wig, the curling wings of it covering his shoulders. She tried to push away from him, but to no avail, crying out involuntarily as his eyes suddenly flashed to silver.

"We have an appointment elsewhere, my dear," the apparition said. "You must come with me. I'm quite sure your lover will meet us there."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

This time, as he walked down the dim corridor to the subterranean council chamber Josef kept his footsteps as silent as possible on the cool stone. While to his nose the smell of decay, the scent of vampires, still hung heavy in the air, he could not tell if any remained in the area. And if the council chamber was empty, his options were depressingly limited.

Josef paused in the doorway. The chamber was bare, the opulent tapestries stripped from the walls, the richly carved seats removed from the dais. Even Josef's keen eyes had trouble discerning anything beyond these basic details in the blackness, relieved only by a bar of faintly flickering torchlight cast through the door.

"You are surprised at our foresight?" said a voice from the shadows, and Thomas Corn stepped forward.

"Not particularly," Josef replied. "You are too old not to be careful."

Corn nodded, "This is not the first fire we have seen."

Josef smiled tightly. "I had expected—hoped—to find the Lady Elaine here."

The other vampire shook his head. "Not here. Not tonight. The flames draw too near."

"Will you take me to her?" Josef asked. "I have need of her—counsel."

Thomas Corn narrowed his blue eyes, pursing his lips thoughtfully, and inhaled. Josef observed this with some amusement. He's trying to smell the lie on me, Josef thought, as though I were some human. He had no heartbeat to speed, no breathing pattern to change, even though he filled his lungs steadily. And if Corn thought his scrutiny was enough to make Josef break a fear sweat…he was mistaken. Then a slow, cold smile spread across Corn's face. "Yes," he said, "yes, I'll take you to her."

He led Josef much further through a set of tunnels than Josef would have imagined possible. That this was done partly to confuse him, the younger vampire had no doubt. When at last they came up through a cleverly disguised set of stairs onto the street level, at first Josef was confused, not by the location—he had no idea where they were, but this was not the important thing to him at the present—but by the light. According to his time sense, the light was all wrong. He knew the sun had set, he was absolutely certain of it. Yet the streets were lit as brightly as day. In some ways it provided Josef with a visceral proof of the extent and ferocity of the fire, and evidently Thomas Corn was equally disconcerted. Differences forgotten for a moment, the two exchanged a look of mutual dismay.

"This is the vengeful hand of God come down upon us all," Corn said, "for our many sins."

Josef was unsure whether he heard apprehension or self-righteousness in Corn's voice. He carefully considered his response, having no desire to engage in theological debate. Not with the city in flames around them. "Perhaps it would be best to go as quickly as possible to the Lady Elaine," he suggested.

The look Corn returned was enigmatic. "Yes," he said, "that would be best."

They moved rapidly through the nightmare streets, the eerie light providing deep shadows to mask their passage. As the fire spread, new evacuees filled the byways, precious possessions clasped close. Josef felt a pang again for Maria, but had no sense of her to grasp, no idea of her situation. He could do nothing but follow this other path now, and trust he would find her when the flames had died.

When at length Corn slowed, and turned into an unassuming lane, it was in a near deserted district. The fire was close here, and Josef could see from a slight rise where they had paused, that the devouring flames were sweeping ever nearer.

They continued in silence, Corn noiselessly opening a small, neatly concealed gate at the back of a property and holding it for Josef to pass within ahead of him. Josef put a hand to his sword hilt, and sidled through, unwilling to trust even a seeming ally.

The courtyard was deserted, and even the incessant howl of the east wind and the roaring of the encroaching fire seemed muted here, out of place. Corn held out a hand. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a parody of the gracious gesture it imitated.

Josef gave Thomas Corn a curt and sardonic bow, and strode inside. His smile echoing Josef's, Corn followed, and together they crossed over the barren flagstones to enter the doorway of the house.

His first impression of the room was that it echoed the architecture of his own home, and wondered belatedly if there were secret entrances to that residence of which he had never been apprised. But that was a minor flash in his consciousness as he took in the scene.

Summersisle was holding a kneeling, struggling swallow by her dark hair, stretching her neck as Lady Elaine bent down, ready to plunge her fangs into the girl's neck. As Josef approached, she twisted again in a frantic attempt to escape. It was no swallow, it was his Maria.

Josef roared as he covered the space between them, seizing Lady Elaine's arm and spinning her away from the terrified girl. The elder vampire staggered back under the ferocity of his assault, catching herself against a table. She hissed at him, a mad light in her silver eyes. "In my own house, you attack me?"

Josef had turned away, back to Summersisle, and as he approached, the dark vampire released his grip in Maria's hair and sent her sprawling to the floor. Josef allowed himself no more than a flicker of a glance down to see that she was unharmed, where she huddled, sobbing. He drew his blade. Trying to watch the other three vampires in the room, he spoke to her as softly as he could. "You have to trust me, Maria. Get against the wall, and stay down. Stay out of the way."

She didn't answer, but began to scuttle to the side as he took a step towards Summersisle. "Why her? Why did you bring her here?"

The vampire smiled. "I think you know," he said. "But I think your quarrel is with the others."

Meanwhile, Thomas Corn was circling, trying to get to Lady Elaine, and Josef rounded on them. "And you," he snarled, "why did you kill my household? What end could that possibly serve?"

Lady Elaine moved forward, her hands curved into talons, her smile beautiful, ethereal, and quite insane. Whether it was the burden of her long years, or some other flaw in her nature, Josef realized something within her was quite broken. "They were contaminated, damned as we are all damned. They had to die, to end the evil." She pointed at Maria, cowering by the hearth. "As she has to die. Even if you have never drunk from her, she is polluted by your touch." And as she spoke, she launched herself forward towards Josef.

Corn, too, made his attack, trying to flank Josef as he met the shock of Lady Elaine's onslaught with his blade raised. As it touched her, Corn just behind, the auburn-haired vampire laughed. "Do you think we fear your steel, Alexander?"

Josef smiled, a feral, joyless smirk, as his blade pierced Lady Elaine's body, and she began to scream. "Steel, no," he said, withdrawing the sword from the deep wound, and riposting to open a searing gash in Corn's face. "Silver, yes."

Corn clapped a hand to his bleeding face, and tried to catch Lady Elaine as she fell. Josef spared a look at Summersisle, who was shaking his head.

"Clever," Summersisle said, "very clever. We knew you'd track down our killer sooner or later, and either way, we'd be rid of her, or you…"

"… preferably you," Thomas Corn snarled, then he looked down at the writhing woman in his arms, and his expression softened. "At first, she didn't know what she was doing…it was as though she were possessed of a demon. Then it got worse and worse. Her own fledglings were not even safe from her obsessions. I could protect her no longer."

Summersisle laughed, bitterly. "She'd ruled the city so long, that no one ever thought she could be displaced. But she can, she can be pulled down from that throne, with your help, witting or not."

Corn glared at him. "Some of us loved her. We wanted to find peace for her, at last. But this isn't peace. It's—it's damnation. For us all." Suddenly, as he spoke, the leaded windows of the great hall burst in. The flames had reached this ancient house, heating the stone of its walls past endurance. They all cringed from the flying shards of glass, and Corn attempted to cover Lady Elaine's body with his own. When the glass had settled, and with flames licking in the open windows, he put her aside, gently, and rose to charge Josef once more. "And if you've killed her, then you have to pay."

Josef, trying to watch in too many directions, didn't see the tall vampire until he was almost upon him. They grappled, Corn grabbing for Josef's blade hand to wrest his sword away. The quarters were too close for Josef to use his weapon, and the elder vampire was too strong to be overcome. He let his feet go out from under him, falling backwards to the floor and carrying Corn with him.

They rolled together across the floor, seeking some advantage, inflicting damage as they could with teeth and nails. Once Corn broke free, jumped to his feet, and seizing a chair, cracked it into splinters against the wall, grabbing a wicked-looking jagged piece, and holding it like a dagger. Josef, too, had regained his feet, and caught sight of Summersisle, slowly making his way around the perimeter of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Josef rasped, raising his sword in Summersisle's direction.

The vampire laughed, "Away from here, fledgling. After you all kill each other, some one has to hold power in this city." He paused. "Whatever's left of it." And with that he slipped away, seeking to outrun the flames.

The growl from Corn let Josef know he was attacking again, and he turned, slashing at the vampire as his opponent stabbed forward with his makeshift stake. Josef felt the blade bite deep into Corn's side, even as the splintered wood found a mark in his own body, and they both fell, gasping, to the floor. It had missed his heart, if barely. He was not paralyzed, but he was sorely wounded. Through the haze of his pain, he saw Thomas Corn, on his hands and knees, head hanging, the blood pouring from his poisoned wounds, moving with agonizing slowness toward the unconscious Lady Elaine. His effort was superhuman, his once-formidable strength ebbing visibly as he struggled to reach his love.

They were dead, Josef knew. Corn and Lady Elaine both. The amount of silver the blade had left in their wounds would spread through their bodies, prevent them from healing. If the flames didn't kill them all first. He began to crawl towards Maria. She was his only hope, and strangely, he was hers as well.

Josef sensed, rather than saw, when Thomas Corn reached Lady Elaine. The wounded vampire gathered her into his arms, brushing the golden hair away from her pale, slack face.

"Thomas, my beloved, is that you?" she said faintly, her eyes still closed.

"Yes, my lady, my love," he replied, gasping with the pain.

"Are we dying?"

He tightened his embrace, and calling on his last reserves of strength, stood, with Lady Elaine in his arms. "Yes," he said, "but we will be always together." And as Josef watched, disbelieving, Thomas Corn staggered across the hall, his face set in a rictus of pain, and plunged out the doorway into the inferno beyond.

Josef rolled onto his back, overcome with the pain of the stake in his side. He set a hand to it, but he could get no leverage. And it was so close to his heart, he feared to shift it himself. "Maria!" he called out, "Maria, for the love of--please, please, help me!"

Maria raised her face from her hands at the sound. She had been too terrified to look, but they were alone now, and Josef was only a few feet away. She crawled to his side. He seemed helpless, his big body stretched on the stone floor, and covered in blood. She had a sudden vision of her vampire play, the brave heroine nobly facing down and killing the monster. But this monster had never harmed her, never offered to harm her, had in fact, protected her from the others who would have killed her. She knew she should finish him while he was wounded, but she couldn't bring herself to it. He was looking at her with such trust, such a terrible trust on his handsome face. She laid a hand on his forehead, cool beneath the sweat beaded there. "H-how?" she faltered.

"The wood. Pull the wood from my body." Josef's words were so faint, she had to strain to hear him.

"You'll bleed to death." She'd seen such a thing once, in her youth, where an impaling rod, removed, had been followed by the headlong rush of life running out.

Josef smiled at her. "No…" he breathed, "it's all right, Maria. Just do it now."

Maria set her hand to the jagged wood, wincing at Josef's gasp as she touched it. Then she bit down hard on her lower lip, said a little prayer, and pulled.

There was no red flood from the wound, and Josef took a deep, shuddering breath. He rolled to his side and curled around the pain for a moment. But there was no time to lose. The air was becoming hotter in the hall. Much hotter. He had to get them out of there, at once. And he couldn't do it, wounded as he was, although he shied away from the solution.

Josef swallowed hard, and tried to rise. There was no help for it. "Maria," he said, "listen to me. I can save us—I know I can save us, but I need you. I need to take some of your blood."

She stared at him, eyes wide with shock, one hand to her mouth. "No!" she cried. "I can't—it's not right. It's not possible."

He held a hand out to her. "There's no other way," he said, pleading, "I swear to you, there's no other way." He stopped and fixed her with a steady stare, trying to hide the agony it cost him to move, trying to make his voice as calm as he could. "I would never hurt you."

Maria looked at him for several long seconds, and he could feel the heat rising. There was a loud crash from outside, probably one of the outbuildings collapsing. She broke her gaze away from him, then looked back, resolutely. "To save us," she said quietly, and moved closer.

Josef reached up and took her in his arms, pulling her down beside him. He could feel his fangs extend, and he almost sobbed with his need for her blood. Putting one hand on her throat, he drew her closer still, and just before he bit, he murmured in her ear, "I love you, Maria."

The girl stiffened in his arms as his fangs pierced her skin, and the blood began to flow into his waiting mouth. He sucked gently, feeling the tremors begin to build in her body, and heard her moan, but not with pain. He could feel the wound in his side closing, healing, the bright, burning sensation of the flesh knitting together. The taste was sweeter than he'd dreamed.

But there was no time, this time, to linger, to savor her blood. Reluctantly he pulled his mouth away from her and stood fluidly, bringing her languid form up with him. He cast around, searching for another door, another passage out. The kitchen…the corridor to the kitchen. Swinging Maria up into his arms, he strode forward.

The back of the house was not yet engulfed in flame. He could get through here, if he was fast enough, if he could jump the wall. He began to run, Maria clinging to his neck, her face tucked against his chest. "Hold on," he said, glorying suddenly in the deed.

The wall was easy, the rough stones providing traction for his feet, and he gained the top with a bound and a scramble, swaying to regain his balance, Maria still held close in his arms. Jumping down was like flying, and his heart soared with the joy of motion. He hit the ground at a run, intent on putting distance between the danger and themselves, leaping burning timbers and other obstacles easily. When he'd gained some breathing room, Josef stopped. Once again, he stood on a rise, and saw the burning city spread around them. Maria seemed to wake from her daze, and struggled slightly. Josef smiled down at her, and set her on her feet. "It's all right, Maria," he said, "we're safe here, for the moment."

She pushed away from him with one hand, backing up a yard or two, and shook her head. "You drank my blood," she said, her face stricken. "You bit me and drank my blood."

"I saved your life." He paused, the joy on his face turning to question, and then to doubt. "Don't you understand? We would have burned."

Maria put a hand to her neck, covering the wounds he had made. She shook her head again, and again. "I—I—can't face this. I can't be used so by an unnatural creature."

Josef reached out to her, and she cringed back. "Please, Maria. I meant you know harm. Please don't—"

"Get away from me!" Her voice was shrill, breaking from emotion. "Never come near me again." She backed away, this time not stopping, and when she was well out of reach, turned gathering up her skirts, and began to run, disappearing into the night.

Josef stood, stunned, and watched her go. He could have caught her, could have forced her to listen, but his wounded pride would not allow it. He stood for a long time, just in that spot, in case she returned, watching the flames in the city below, but she never came back.

In London, the Great Fire raged on for two more days, but in Josef's undead heart, from that moment forward, only ashes remained.


End file.
